Get Out Alive 2
by ShhUrDead678
Summary: Sequel to "Get Out Alive." Sam's a full-time prostitute, and Dean and John finally come back to see him. What they see is far different from what they expect. Dark fic. Contains rape and abuse. Hurt!Sam, Prot!Dean/John. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Greetings! So for those that enjoyed "Get Out Alive," I am at last providing a sequel. ****The beginning is a bit slower than I like, so bear with me! **

**Warnings: language, sex, sadness**

**XxXxXxX**

**2 Years Later**

I felt like I was underwater. Like the effects taking their toll on my body were lessened by the slippery water dividing me from my client. Water and sweat.

We were both panting now, sweat and other, not-so-innocent fluids mingling grotesquely with the other's. The sensations flooding through my body were mind-blowing as his dick entered me again, and I gasped, throwing my head back.

It was a long and ruthlessly stimulating practice. The grueling sex continued until he finished, his semen trapped inside me.

I was wheezing, my ass still full of fleshy organ as I worked to recover my breath. After several moments, I finally pulled it out, rolling over onto the other side of the bed.

My latest client quickly followed me. "Such a pretty boy," he whispered into my ear. He was of a wide berth, and took up a good majority of the king-sized bed. He rolled over onto his side, reaching his hand out to grasp my limp cock.

He squeezed it hard, slowly hardening it. "Ah," I gasped out. "Not again, not again…" I had fully reached my limit, and I definitely wasn't ready to get it up again.

Despite my protests, we ended up going two more rounds. At that point, it would probably be called rape, but I didn't worry too much about it. Yeah, I'd be sore, and I'd be tired as hell, but I'd also be a few dollars richer.

After an hour and with a wad of cash stuffed in my pocket, I walked the streets, not caring which direction I happened across. I had nowhere to go and nothing to do, so I savored every moment of peace I could scrounge up.

Two year ago, The Ramrod was shut down, and my one form of earning money the legal way vanished like it'd never been. Coleman was taken to the hospital, then to prison, and has yet to be released. With the crimes of blackmail and rape, I hoped he never would.

My head hung low, avoiding any passersby's stares. Ever since I stopped working at The Ramrod, I'd become a full-time prostitute, and was now very well known locally for it. If anyone was seen interacting with me it became instantaneous gossip, and rumors would form. If they'd been a prestigious, well-liked lawyer five seconds before talking to me, they became labeled a worthless, disgusting pervert five seconds after.

With the bad reputation that would befall anyone around me, I was avoided like the plague. In the daytime, I was shunned, sometimes even openly ridiculed and abused. In the nighttime, though, that was where I was valued as a god. Those wealthy and perverted enough to want me searched me out, and time after time I gave myself to them. I became nothing more than the town's toy, getting past from owner to owner until they'd had their fill.

I kicked a stone lying innocently in front of me, hitting it into a gutter. I listened as it clanked along the sides until it hit bottom.

I stopped in place for a moment, pondering. With just the slightest of actions, I was able to eternally ostracize that rock from the rest of the world. It would never see light again, and will merely rot in darkness and isolation.

I continued walking. Was that my fate as well?

It was still mid-afternoon and since I was a full-time prostitute, money was easier to come by. If you fucked long enough and hard enough, the cash would obviously be flowing, I guess. While it was rare, if a sleazy rich guy wanted to fuck at his place after lunchtime, it didn't hurt me any.

As was most often, I found no sex candidates on the streets. Without meeting anyone's eyes, I walked into a local grocery store. Despite what the ignorant locals might believe, I couldn't live off just sex. Just because I was a prostitute didn't mean I was a fucking incubus, and I still needed to eat for Christ's sake.

But, nevertheless, the endless whispers began immediately after I walked through the doors. Did these people have nothing better to do with their time?

I was a masochist in many ways, really. When The Ramrod shut down, I sent a job application to this grocery store hoping for a legal, less-degrading method of income. Every day and every night I felt disgusting; I was tired of hating myself, and I wanted to find something I could be proud of myself for.

But, of course, based on how I got treated here and everywhere else, it wouldn't have done any good. It's probably a good thing my application was rejected immediately after they saw my name on the paper.

I ignored their glances and pointing fingers just as I always did, and arrived at the dairy isle. I gathered up the usual necessities, still trying to be meager with my money usage. I wasn't intending to leave town and escape anymore, but I was still going to give half my earnings to Greg's family. Maybe more.

My heart stopped. Greg...

I shook my head, halting any further thought processes. Now was not the time, especially with all these gawking shoppers scrutinizing my every move as I picked up a carton of milk. I put it in the basket I had picked up at the entrance to the store, and tossed in some bread and cheese, as well.

Walking to the bottled water section, I saw one of my frequent customers, Eddy, looking at some of the available beverages. I ignored him, just like I always did for my customers, and walked past him.

A hand landed on my forearm, impatiently grabbing me and turning me around. Eddy was looking at me with an astonished gaze, like he never would've guessed someone like me could be in a grocery store.

I ignored his dumb expression, asking curtly, "What?"

Surprise ebbed away, and he brought his hand down to rub against my denim-clad cock.

"Fuck, I've been horny all day," he gasped out as the rubbing became harder and more painful. "Fuck, I _want you." _The hand slipped beneath my jeans and boxers to repeat the process, and I focused on controlled breathing.

"Well you can have me."

Eddy only grunted in acknowledgment, pushing me roughly against the shelves. I quickly glanced to the left and right, thankful we were the only ones in the aisle. I held on tight to the rung above me, closing my eyes as my groin hardened in his hand.

A little more rubbing and the bastard had me cumming, and I barely stifled my moan as it sprayed into his hand. Honestly, I didn't mind as long as he didn't go wiping my own jizz on me.

As it was, he licked off some of the sticky substance then wiped the rest on the bottom of a shelf, out of sight.

Sometime during the activity, Eddy had orgasmed into his own pants, dark enough that it was, thankfully for him, unnoticeable. He looked down at me with lustful eyes and moist, parted lips. "Tonight…I want to see you."

I nodded. "Your place?"

He shook his head, glancing swiftly to both ends of the aisle before turning back to me. "No, the wife's home today with a fever, so it's gonna have to be at the usual motel. Ten o'clock."

I nodded again, then turned to pick up a package of bottled water. If he wanted to go fuck a teenage boy while his wife was sick in bed, that was his own prerogative.

Putting the water in my basket, I didn't bother turning to wave goodbye as I walked to grab a few more items before paying for my groceries. I didn't like staying in a place like this, where most of the shoppers were gossipy soccer moms that bought Kool-Aid for their kids and tender steaks for their husbands. For someone to show such a great example to their family, they sure were cruel and judgmental toward others that weren't as well-off.

I looked around, finding many of the women that had ridiculed me or spit on me. Because they didn't know me, and because they couldn't accept me as proper in their world, I was hated for who I was, and who I failed to be.

It kind of hurt me sometimes, because I did recognize where their hatred stemmed from. I'd sold my body to countless men and women, so of course I was disgusting. I was soiled, dirty to the very core, and I could understand why some found me unntouchable.

I put my groceries on the conveyor belt, allowing them to be pulled along to the cashier. I looked up, and my eyes widened as I saw that the cashier was Greg's father, Don Cunningham. I had completely forgotten he worked here.

And was now hopelessly paying the consequences.

He was taller than me, but thin, too damn thin. He'd lost a lot of weight since the last time I'd seen him. But, last time, we'd been on much better terms.

Mrs. Cunningham's health had deteriorated considerably early last year, and passed away only a few months after. I didn't know how Greg was taking the news, or if he was still suffering horribly for it.

I looked down, eyes moist. Greg…

"Sam," I heard Mr. Cunningham spat, startling me. "That you, ya bastard boy?"

I swallowed, only nodding timidly as I allowed my bangs to fall in my eyes. "H-How's Greg, sir?"

"How do ya _think_ my boy is? Huh?" A hand fisted in my collar, and I looked up to see the intense, pained fire raging in his eyes. They were the same beautiful dark blue as Greg's.

My heart skipped a beat, and memories of the Greg I missed so much flooded back to me. A tear fell from my eye without warning, and I hurriedly looked away from the older man, wiping my sleeve across my face.

The surrounding area was hushed as everyone watched the exchange, and I could feel the gazes of many boring into my back. Did they know the reason behind Mr. Cunningham's rage? Did they know what I'd done?

"I-I'm really s-sorry, sir."

Mr. Cunningham's eyes glinted in astonishment and rage. "You're _sorry_? Everything you've done to my family and you're _sorry?_"

My eyes felt wet, but I ignored it. I owed this man the world, but I could give him nothing but a meager apology. I was helpless, ignorant on how to speak to this transformed man in front of me. I was unfamiliar with this menacing side of Greg's father, and for him to confront me so aggressively was something I would have never expected from him.

For the longest time, Mr. Cunningham was my role model almost as much as Greg himself had been. After joining The Ramrod as an employee, Greg had taken me under his wing, deeming himself my "protector." While I felt I didn't require one, I was nonetheless grateful for his altruism. Over the days and weeks and months we'd known each other, Greg frequently took me to his home for dinner. There, I had met his father, and that man had brought a smile so rare to my face that my cheeks hurt.

He had been like Greg in almost every way. He was cheerful and happy, and was optimistic in every aspect despite his wife's illness. In fact, he was always incessantly raving about how his wife was going to get better, how she was going to make a full recovery someday and he would be there to sweep her off her feet when she did.

But, ever since the week of her death, the week my entire life changed forever, I began visiting the Cunningham's small house every week, knocking on their door and waiting patiently in the hopes of getting a response, or at least some sort of recognition of my existence. No one ever came to answer the door, but still I'd wait. I'd always be waiting.

After almost a year of not seeing Mr. Cunningham, the stark differences in the man I used to know were almost scary. This man appeared withdrawn, uncaring, and desolate to the very depths of his soul. I wanted to reach out to him, tell him he wasn't alone, but that wasn't what the man wanted right now.

With that thought, I internally shook my head.

I was stupid. How could I be so juvenile? I didn't know _what_ he wanted. I'd never had a sick, now dead, wife, and never had children to feed and protect. The only person I had to worry about was myself.

There was no way I could empathize with this selfless person.

Mr. Cunningham looked surprised by his own actions, but didn't back down. He turned to look at the conveyor belt, and then roughly passed each of my items through the scanner. Bagging them, he gave me the total cost, and I paid with a twenty-dollar bill.

"Y-You can keep the change," I said, kind of nervous. Now that his wife was dead, I didn't know how the Cunningham's situation was financially. No matter how horrible it sounded, they no longer had to worry about paying for medication and hospital bills. Maybe they were better off now?

I was so selfish, and just being able to think up something so heartless made my stomach churn. Of course they weren't better off.

Mr. Cunningham snatched the money from my hand, placing it all in the register without bothering to pocket any or give me the change. I bowed my head to him in both civility and trepidation, about to gather my groceries when he put a strong hand on mine.

"Why?" I looked up into his fierce, fiery gaze. His mouth formed into a grimace. "Fucking _why_?"

My mouth opened, then I shut it unknowingly. I wanted to tell him, I wanted him to know the _truth_.

But, would he believe me? Would he only hate me more for lying to him?

When I gave no response, Mr. Cunningham released his suppressed anger, grabbing a hold of my shoulders and shaking me violently. My head bobbled, and he eventually released my shirt, pushing me away.

"Why?" He asked again, quieter and more melancholy. Previously angry, he now seemed nothing more than heartbroken. Looking into his eyes, I now knew I, the unfortunate boy he used to see as a cherished son, was no longer redeemable in his eyes. I was but a forsaken child, walking a path he wasn't willing to follow.

His eyes shone with tears and, as if disgusted with this reaction, he reached a hand out, slapping me across the face. My head spun from the impact, and I could only stand there, stunned.

Mr. Cunningham looked at his hand like he was going to throw up, and he suddenly turned around, fleeing the room.

I followed his figure with my eyes until it was out of sight. After a moment of hesitation, I turned and gathered my groceries, swiftly making my way toward the exit. The gossipy people surrounding me were whispering incessantly, and I felt nothing but fierce annoyance. Why did everyone have to care? Why did everyone have to be so nosy?

I eagerly rushed past my many observers, trying my best to remain composed as I propelled myself to the exit.

I nearly sighed in relief as I stepped outside, where the people were at an agreeable distance and the restricting walls shattered to nothing. I didn't feel as claustrophobic or suffocated, and could breathe more freely than in the confining grocery store. There was no one breathing down my neck, or distinct murmurings on how repulsive I was.

That I could hear, at least.

I walked down the street toward my temporary home, absently watching for suspicious bystanders. My current place was undoubtedly safer than my previous tent in an alleyway, but I was still paranoid as hell. If someone tried to follow me, I wanted to know about it; I didn't want anyone having any fun ideas about raping me while I slept.

Thankfully, I saw no one, and rustled through my jeans pocket to grab the key to my room. It was the room nearest to the manager's and, as long as I let him fuck me every week, he gave me half-price for lodging.

It was probably bad irony that I was doing the exact same thing as I had with my previous boss, Daniel Coleman. Before he was imprisoned and The Ramrod shut down, I had had sex with him in exchange for extra protection. Now, I was doing the exact same thing to get a roof over my head.

Gods, I really was gross.

I went into my room, Room number 2, closing and locking the door behind me. Luxury-wise, the place was scant and had barely a dime to its name. It was dusty, grimy, and filled with mold but, for the small price I had to pay to obtain such a room, I wouldn't complain.

I pulled off my shirt, tossing it into the corner of the room as I lay on the small, full-sized bed. It still felt weird lying in a bed that wasn't occupied by another person. Because of my previous boss Coleman's sadistic perversions, I had developed phobias that, at the time, seemed insurmountable. I used to cringe just thinking about a man in the same bed as me, much less fucking me into it.

But, now, that phobia was no longer an issue. My body had grown more accustomed to the daily discomforts of sex and wasn't as bothered by the sheets lying beneath me.

And let's be honest, lacking my previous phobias made it a damn bit easier to find clients. Getting them to fuck me during the daytime was hard enough. If it wasn't in the safety of their houses or the dingy motel rooms, the perverts wouldn't be trusting enough to fuck out in the open; we could get caught too easily.

I smirked grimly, sadly. Really, my getting caught wouldn't have been an issue. Unlike many of my clients, I didn't have to worry about an honorable reputation to maintain.

I shook my head of the thoughts; it wasn't relevant, and I wouldn't let it bother me.

I grabbed the remote control sitting on top of the drawer, hoping to wind down a bit. There were very few channels last time I checked, and I flicked the small, dusty television on, briefly scanning through each. I pouted slightly, unimpressed. Wasn't there something better that this electronic box could provide? Weren't people always raving about that awesome TV show they watched last week?

I huffed, turning it back off. I obviously just wasn't getting the memo.

Tossing the remote onto the other side of my bed, I reached behind my head to the small drawer sitting beside the bed. After a moment of searching, my hand grasped a small, thin piece of paper, and I brought it back to rest in front of me. I must have been obsessed or something, because not a day went by when I didn't look at this paper. To the rest of the world, this was garbage, a small piece of trash serving no purpose but to take up space.

To me, though, it was everything. The handwriting was messy, the letters slanted slightly to the left, the "t" in "Vester" was barely crossed.

I closed my eyes, bringing the paper close to my chest. Where were the Vesters right now? Were they planning to come back? Was my decision to stay in this rotten town one I would later regret?

I curled up on my side, and placed the paper down on the sheets beside me, very carefully avoiding the specks of semen. I closed my eyes, thinking of the Vesters. What were they doing now? Were they saving more lives, putting more criminals behind bars? Had they already forgotten about me?

I fisted a hand into my eye. Why must I always torture myself like this?

I sighed deeply, and resituated myself into a more comfortable position. Why was I always so tired? Whether I'd done a lot of fucking during the day or not, whenever I found even the smallest reprieve, all I could do was realize how damn tired I was. I felt bone weary, like I was constantly drifting on the verge of collapse.

For me, consciousness was not a blessing, and I tried to remove myself from it as frequently as I could.

Unfortunately, though, sleep did not come easy. After all these horrible months and years of agonizingly vulgar activities, I couldn't fall asleep alone. It's like my body forgot how to function by itself. Now matter how _fucking _tired I was, I couldn't sleep unless I was lying beside my most recent fuck buddy. Maybe it was some sick case of Stockholm Syndrome. I was so co-dependent on my clients that I _couldn't _sleepwithout them.

I made myself forget about my job and Greg and the Vesters, and merely focused on breathing._ Maybe tonight I can finally sleep._

XxXxXxXxX

I was groggy and irritable when I finally stopped trying to sleep (_Really, should I have expected anything less?)_ and made it back to the streets. It was still daytime, and I walked toward the town, intending to search for more clients.

Five minutes closer to my destination, my head was down and I was once again kicking rocks along the sidewalk and into gutters.

Still in a mindless daze—half-awake, half-asleep—I didn't notice until too late as someone's shoulder bumped my own. I stumbled sideways, barely catching myself from cracking my head open.

"Watch where you're going, damn it!" the loud man's voice cried out. Turning, I found this guy was thrice my size, with dark, slicked back hair, broad shoulders, and an impressive six-pack visible from beneath his tight muscle shirt. The resemblance was so uncannily like Greg that tears came to my eyes, and I swiftly blinked them away.

I swallowed lightly. "S-Sorry." I turned back in the direction I'd been going, still in a bit of a stupor. How long had it been since I'd seen Greg?

I closed my eyes. Too long, damn it, too fucking long.

A loose but secure hand gripped my forearm, and I flinched, expecting a punch.

"Hey…" I turned to him, and his eyes were squinted in contemplation. "I've seen you before..." The previous annoyance was no longer in sight, and he didn't seem like the scary, huge hulk I had assumed him to be. It just looked deliberative, eyeing me not hungrily or lustfully. Just curiously.

I shrugged, not removing his hand from my arm. He may have been calm, cool, and collected now, but he was thrice my size, and I needed to be careful. "You might have. Dunno."

He was still scrutinizing my features, trying to pinpoint me as someone he may or may not have met.

His eyes suddenly lit with recognition, but it wasn't as I'd been expecting. It wasn't like he'd just run into a long lost friend, or he'd at last found that famous person he'd wanted to meet. It was more like…

Oh. Right…

"You're that _prostitute? _Sam? Right?_" _His eyes were lit with excitement, excitement that he'd figured it out and excitement that I was exactly what he was looking for.

"Yeah…"

"I-I…" He began hesitantly, and I internally cocked my head. "I don't usually do this kind of thing, but…" After a pause, he released his hold on my arm, instead moving his hand to the zipper of my jeans. "I need a distraction, and I'm _really _really horny."

It was then I realized the dark circles under his eyes and the weary facial expression he wore. If I didn't turn down horny men that liked to fuck over and over again, why would I turn down a sad guy that needed some comfort?

I removed his hand, putting it back at his side. "If you do this to me out in the open, you'll get yourself one hell of a reputation."

The man shook his head, and put his hand on me again, harder. "I don't care. I want…" His eyes looked intensely into my eyes, and I could do nothing but stare back as he spoke. "I want you."

After a moment, there was no point to refuse, and I nodded. "You wanna at least do it in an alley? Might cause less of a scene."

He looked horribly displeased with the idea, until he realized there was one just a block away from us. I was glad for it; if he was so eager that he'd fuck me on the sidewalk and not give a rat's ass if people saw, then his preference for sex was probably one I did not want to show the others.

Holding tightly onto my wrist, he just about dragged me into the alley, and immediately began taking off my pants.

"You do realize this costs money, right?" I felt bad for the guy, and I did want to help him, but that didn't mean I was giving away freebies.

With one hand ripping off my jeans, the other reached into his back pocket to produce a large wad of money. My eyes widened at the sheer quantity, and any uncertainty I may have bore was gone like it'd never been.

We went at it like rabbits, and gods only knew how we didn't attract the attention of potential passersby. I tried as hard as I could to keep quiet, but this man's technique—Jesus fuck.

It wasn't often I was fucked so hard that my mind was literally blown. All reason and constraint fled from me like it no longer existed, and I could do nothing but scream and beg for this man to thrust harder.

A half-hour later and we were still fucking. I was currently pushed hard against the wall as he plunged into me with all his massive strength, causing me to gasp as he reached somewhere inside me that had never been reached before until today.

After what seemed like several eternities we finally exhausted all our fuel, and I was now lying on the cold, disgusting ground. The presently nameless guy was lying on top of me, his head on my still-clothed chest and his arms snug around my bare hips. It was kind of hard to breathe but, when I thought of that huge ass wad of money waiting to sit in my pockets, I couldn't find it in me to complain.

He began stroking my cheek, then lightly pushed some of my bangs out of my face. This man, when not in the mad bouts of sex, was unexpectedly gentle. "Can I ask you something?"

I took in a deep breath, my crushed lungs making it a struggle to breathe evenly, "Sure." Whether I answered truthfully or not was debatable.

He leaned up from his position to eye my expression better, and I held in my sigh of relief as I let oxygen into my lungs. He only continued to stroke more of my hair, and then gently massage my scalp. Looking me keenly in the eyes, he asked, "Are you gay?"

It was a good question and, honestly, I had given it some thought in the past. Not much, though, considering it was no longer relevant. Who knows? Maybe if I had grown up differently, if I hadn't gone out looking for careless fucks with both men and women alike, I may have been able to choose for myself which one I favored more. Maybe I could have found the one person I loved more than anyone, and wanted to fuck—no, make love to—only that person.

Now, though, sex wasn't about love, or which gender I liked more; it was about hormones and satisfying the person on top of me's urge to fuck me senseless.

"No," I said.

He seemed disappointed, but showed no other emotion. "Are you straight?" He burrowed his head beneath my askew t-shirt, and rested his head on one of my nipples, rubbing his temple against it.

An odd thing to do, but I didn't complain.

"No."

He only hmm'ed in response, still absorbed in kneading at my chest. After another moment or two, he released contact, and I watched from beneath the collar of my shirt as he turned his head to face my nipple. Drawing out his tongue, he began licking the nub, the long, grotesquely wet swipes bringing it quickly to attention. I barely restrained my moan, and subconsciously spread my legs wider as the man nestled his thigh into my crotch.

Despite the pleasure I was receiving from these ministrations, I felt horribly unbalanced. I wanted to tell him to keep going, to arouse him enough to start fucking me again but, at the same time, I wanted to end this. I wanted nothing more than to take his money and never see him again.

I swallowed, deep in thought. The more he lay on top of me, the more disgusted I was getting with myself. Why…Why did I…why…

Why was I so slutty?

I squeezed my eyes shut, so tight my eyelids hurt. Why was I like this? Was it because I'd become so familiar with fucking that it actually felt good now? Was there some way I could go back to the way I was, when fucking was just a painful necessity?

Was there some way I could escape this loathing and disgust I felt for myself?

During the fucks, sure, it was easier when it was fun and I didn't have to think about it. The aftermath, though, that was the hard part. To realize I had just enjoyed an act that, in past years, had brought me nothing but humiliation…

I could do nothing but hate myself.

I felt a tear escape from beneath my eyelid. Why did I have to be like this?

My body shuddered, and I looked down to see the man now licking at my other nipple and his thigh pushing more insistently against my now hard cock. Here I was, once again, getting aroused by something so, so…disgusting.

Greg once told me that getting aroused during sex wasn't something that could be helped, that it was just my own body's anatomy reacting to something that I, personally, may not have enjoyed.

But how did that make sense? Weren't both the mind and body connected? Greg had had more schooling than me, so maybe he knew more about this, but it just didn't make sense to me. If I thought something perverted felt good, wouldn't my body agree? Wouldn't the opposite work as well?

The man continued licking my nipples, and I forcefully pushed him off me, quickly getting to my feet as I scrambled in search of my underwear.

What the hell kind of sick person asked to be fucked harder?

I began to fill even more with contempt, and was repulsed by my very own being. I shoved on my boxers and jeans, ignoring the man's, "Wait, please—."

I listened to no more. I was tired; I was so fucking tired.

Not even thinking about the money to be had, I hastily exited the dark alleyway, not once looking behind me. All I did was run, run from that man and my own lust.

My own filthy, disgusting lust.

Glancing at the spacious skies above me, I was dismayed to see the sun had already fallen. Had I been under better circumstances, I would have taken the time to stop and admire the pretty sunset, the array of colors pleasing to the eye.

As it was, though, I practically sprinted in the direction of my motel room, ignoring the displeased grunts and hollers from passersby when I accidentally bumped them.

I ran all the way to the motel, seeking out the one sanctuary I had left. Nobody was waiting for me, no one except the sleazy manager. And, yeah, I'd probably enjoy getting fucked by him, too.

Another tear fell from my eye. When would this pain finally go away?

XxXxXxXxXxX

As the motel came into sight, I slowed to a jog, then walk. The motel manager, Harry, was standing impatiently outside my door, his face grumpy and his foot tapping rapidly against the ground. His balding hair was one of the many poor physical traits he had, others including his rotten teeth, beer belly, and thick unibrow. They weren't exactly features I looked for in clients but, frankly, as long as I got paid, I didn't rightly care.

"What the hell took ya so long, boy?" he asked immediately as I approached.

"Sorry, I was just—." Before I could finish, I was slung into his room, Harry's grip tight on my arm. He tossed me onto the bed, and when I looked at him he was already shirtless and pulling off his jeans.

We partook in these sexual activities every Sunday, and I had completely forgotten that was today. He was angrier than usual, probably because he was forced to wait for me while being unbearably horny, and I quickly stripped out of my clothes.

I didn't want to keep him waiting, and I made sure that he watched as I sensually pulled off my boxers and tossed them to the side.

The anger gradually formed to desire, and he just gleamed at me with a lustful eye, soaking me in as he stood, crouched at the front of the bed. I was sitting with my back against the headrest, my legs spread wide to give him a nice view.

He wasn't able to merely watch for very long as he viciously pounced on me, knocking me back into the wood as he immediately began exploring my body. I shivered, his invasive tongue and hands touching places that, even after all these years, were ridiculously sensitive.

Three fingers immediately lodged themselves into my ass, and I gasped, fighting with all my being the instinctive urge to yank them out.

Quickly, though, arousal took hold of me like a deadly vice, and I didn't feel disgusted by it, not at all.

I moaned, and Harry smiled creepily at me. "Damn, kid, with all this whoring ya do you've gotten really stretched here. I don' even need to use lube." His smile widened to reveal crooked, blackening teeth. "Just makes you that much cheaper."

If I had been more coherent, I probably would have said something snarky with a dramatic roll of my eyes. As it was, though, I kept my mouth shut, focusing only on his fingers.

The digits continuing wiggling around, thoroughly exploring the already well-known territory. After several agonizing moments of just this, Harry suddenly looked up at me from his hovering position, eyes even darker with desire. "Hey," he said, voice coarse. "Can I fist you?"

A stupid question, considering I did whatever he wanted in order to have a room here. But I nodded, as if I was really the one to judge what was and was not allowed.

The three fingers were removed, and suddenly I felt as something thick and fleshy lodged itself inside me. I instantly gasped, and threw my wrist in my mouth to stop the deafening moan that almost escaped.

"_Ah_," I groaned into my arm.

Harry moaned in distinct admiration of my body, licking his lips wildly. "Fuck, you're so juicy in here. And so fucking hot." He continued pumping his hand, and my body rocked with it. "It's like a fucking furnace or somethin'."

I let him have his fun for a while, and in no time was cumming all over my chest.

The fist was still pumping vigorously inside me, and I gasped out, "O-Okay…t-time for…" Time to fucking stop this, before I lost my fucking mind. "Regular sex."

Harry removed his fist, and I groaned as it fell out, my hole feeling oddly empty. Harry seized my hips and lined himself up.

The fist was replaced with a penis, and we kept going.

XxXxXxXxXx

I walked back to my room, absently looking up at the now dark skies. Grabbing my key from my pocket, I was about to unlock my door when I suddenly remembered the promise I'd made with one of my clients, Eddy. I grumbled, glancing at my watch to see it was nearing ten o'clock. Fuck, fucking with Harry had taken for-fucking-ever.

I shoved my key back into my pocket and headed for another, slightly nicer motel a few blocks away. It was our usual meeting place when his wife was staying at home. They had a very unconventional relationship, and unashamedly cheated on each other every chance they got. I didn't really understand their relationship, or why they never considered getting a divorce.

But, again, as long as I got paid, it didn't really matter.

I entered the motel and met up with Eddy in the usual room, knocking twice before entering without prelude.

Eddy was sitting naked on the bed, his dark chest hairs long and, based on personal experience, kind of gross to be pressed up against.

"Glad you could make it, Sammy," he said with a crooked smile.

I hated hearing that nickname now. _Sammy. _Fuck, that brought back memories I couldn't handle right now. I wondered what the Vesters were doing right now. Were they in trouble? The job of a policeman wasn't exactly without threats and danger. I hope they were okay…

But if they weren't? There's no way I'd know. All I'd know is they chose not to come back for me, and I didn't know how well I'd handle that.

"What you standin' around, for? Come lay with me." I blinked, removing those thoughts from my head.

But those thoughts were merely replaced by others, and I stopped the groan that was threatening to erupt as I once again glanced at his chest. Those hairs…ick.

I didn't complain, though. I crawled on top of him and began.

XxXxXxXxXxX

The next day I found myself standing in front of the Cunningham's house again. An envelope of money in my hand but without the courage to knock.

I wanted to slide the money beneath the door but, if I did that, would they be angry? It was more than blatant that they wanted nothing more to do with me. Yesterday Don Cunningham made that very clear, and I now had a hand-shaped bruise on my cheek as evidence.

If I forced myself onto them, instead of waiting patiently for their acceptance, would that only worsen the already severed bond?

Would the Cunninghams think I pitied them? Or, worse yet, would they refuse to accept money that was earned by fucking? Greg had always been encouraging toward me, and always worked to convince me that what I did was out of necessity, not my own perversion. He loved me no less, even with my less-than-respectable profession, and never once found me disgusting or detestable.

Now, though, had it all changed? Did he look down at me with condescension? Did he regret ever getting involved with me? He must think I'm a real slut, because I had just, just…

I put an arm over my face, hanging it limply across my eyes. Why did it end up like this? Why did _I _end up like this? Fuck, I was so gross.

In the end, I did not drop off the money, and instead went my own way, back onto the main street.

Not thirty seconds later and I ran into the same guy from earlier, tall, muscular, and attractive—essentially a Greg look-a-like. He didn't look quite as sad as before; on the contrary, he seemed very lively.

And that face brightened even more when his eyes fell on me. He immediately jumped to my side, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and turning me to fully face him.

His smile beamed at me as he spoke, "Hey, so about yesterday, that," he inhaled and exhaled contently, eyes bright, "that felt really _really_ good. And…I'd like to do it again." I wasn't entirely adverse to it so far, and he pulled from his pocket an entire wad of cash, at least thrice the size as before. My eyes were bug-eyed with astonishment, and he held it out to me tauntingly. "I want the entire day with you. The entire day. So…" he grinned. "How bout it?"

I looked longingly at the money in his hand. I really did have no morals. All I had was avarice and a heart of steel.

I nodded. "Sure. When do you wanna start?"

He bent down to rest his forehead against mine, leering at me excitedly. "Right now." The arm that was leaning on my shoulders began to travel, and a hand found it's way to my ass. "And I have kinks like you wouldn't believe."

I blinked. Well fuck.

**XxXxXxXxXxXxX**

**Hope you enjoyed!**

**Not the best place to end, but I suppose it could've been worse. I recognize Dean and John have not arrived yet, and I hope it's not too boring without them. They shall be presenting themselves in a spectacular fashion soon enough.:)**

**And I hope I'm not beating a dead horse by creating this sequel! Do inform me if you think I should distribute my efforts elsewhere. **

**Until next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**This is the _only _chapter that will ever be this short in this fanfic. I'm cruel and wanted to end it a certain way.**

**Enjoy!**

**XxXxXxXxX**

"Are you ready yet?"

"Do you _think_ I'm fucking ready?" I protested loudly, banging on the door that acted as a barricade between us. When he said kinks I'd thought he meant ropes, vibrators, cock rings. Anything but…this.

What would the Vesters say if they saw me like this?

"Aw, come on, it can't be that bad." I could tell he was pressed up against the door. "Come on out_. Please_."

I huffed. I knew I needed to. I was getting paid for this after all. With a deep breath, I put my hand to the knob, turning it and, consequently, revealing myself to the man.

His jaw dropped, and he could only stare in what seemed to be awe as he soaked it in.

My cheeks were flaming red, and I could only stand there as he slyly shuffled forward. Honestly, I didn't doubt he was a good person but, in moments like this, I really questioned his morality.

He put a hand on my chest, squeezing the bra cup that rested there, while the other hand reached beneath the ridiculously short skirt to grasp my balls.

Soon he was moving us to his spacious, king-sized bed, and he effortlessly threw me onto the rich, golden-colored sheets. He joined me not a second after, eyes dark with lust as he looked down on me. It was kind of unsettling to see that expression on a very Greg-like face. I instead looked up at the high ceiling as he crawled in front of my bent legs. He began thoroughly ravaging me, his head tucked beneath my pink skirt as he licked mercilessly at my body.

Soon we were having the real sex, and I was already panting.

"Ah, ah, please…" I was such a slut. Even in the deep throes of sex I knew I was a slut.

I didn't act against it though, and I thrust harder into his body.

After two rounds and still feverish with hunger, a bang at the door indicated an unexpected visitor. The man stopped mid-thrust, still inside as he turned in the direction of the noise. He didn't seem too bothered by it, nor did he frantically gather his clothes or pull the sheets onto his body.

In fact, he didn't react at all as the doorknob jiggled and turned, and I stared in shock as the door opened. I was in a horribly embarrassing sex position, not to mention I was wearing a bra and short pink skirt.

Before I could see the person behind the door, I tucked my head beneath the sheets, cowering in their sanctuary. The rest of me was still displayed like an all-you-can-eat buffet, with my ass noticeably exposed to anyone in range—not to mention with a penis stuck in it—but at least now no one could identify me personally as the one wearing a skirt.

I peeked out from beneath the sheets to see the man in bed with me wave cheerfully. "Ah, Greg, at last. I've been waiting for you, you know! _Gosh_," the man said with fake exasperation. In reality, he seemed quite jolly, as if he hadn't at all been caught in an embarrassing and compromising position.

And did he say Greg? I shook my head. Even if he did, that wasn't the same Greg as the one I knew; it couldn't be.

I listened as the newcomer walked farther into the room, setting something down on the table. "Yeah, well this week has been hectic. Haven't had the time." This voice…I nearly gasped in shock. It was Greg's, _my_ Greg's voice—but was he really _my _Greg anymore?—that was coming from only yards away. We were in the same room together. All these months, I had tried to get his attention but, now that I was at the mercy of this man fucking me, he suddenly showed up without preamble.

I squirmed, and the man in bed with me held me down firmly, petting my hair. "Shh, pretty boy, it's okay. Little Greggy's not gonna hurt ya; I won't let him." I felt him lean down to kiss my cheek, and Greg snorted from across the room.

"A prostitute, again? I know your guy broke up with you, but this isn't the solution."

"This one is different," the man responded unexpectedly, still patting my hair affectionately. The man pulled out of me, moving to sit beside my still exposed rear. I did not react to the petting, simply continuing to cower my head beneath the sheets. "I…I really think I like him."

My cheeks grew tinted, and I merely stayed where I was, too scared to move. The only way this man knew me was through sex. How could he come to truly like someone like me?

I could almost hear the unconventional grimace in Greg's voice as he spoke, "Be careful who you trust, Daryl. That person may just bite you in the ass."

My eyes widened, and I covered my mouth with a strong hand. Was he referring to me? Was he referring to how I infinitely fucked up our friendship?

But he didn't know it was me under the sheets. Was he still so agonized about what I did that it was still haunting him, that even in this moment he was saturated with sadness and pain?

It sounded like my Greg, it really did but, at the same time, he sounded so…so different. He sounded dull, when he was once like the bright, brilliant sun. It was as though all of his once glamorous light was now gone, shadowed in darkness.

Was it all my fault?

Daryl sighed dramatically. "You've become too bitter, too dark. Your dad's freakin' out, too. Just loosen up a little, man." I saw him beckon Greg over. "Come on, come join us. I bet a threesome would be great with this guy," he added, patting me on the head again.

I squeaked, only curling more fiercely into the sheets. Greg didn't verbally respond to the jibe, and Daryl continued. "Come on, ever since you and Ben split up you haven't had any real fun. You need to let yourself go every once in a while."

I flinched and my heart skipped a beat. Ben and Greg weren't together anymore? But…but they were fucking _soulmates. _I tried to keep my breathing steady. Was this my fault, too? What could have happened between them?

Greg snorted, his voice sounding cruel and impatient, "Daryl, I am not having a threesome, much less with my cousin and some whore off the street."

I barely stifled a sob from beneath the sheets, and Daryl coo'ed in my direction, petting my cheek. "Aw, there there, precious. I'll protect you from mean Greg-y."

With the movement, the sheets fell and revealed a little more of my legs and torso. There was a long pause before the conversation picked back up, Greg initiating. "Wait, you said that was a guy in your bed? Because I definitely see a skirt."

Daryl shrugged. "That's just the way I like it," he said, emphasizing his words with a smack on my ass. "Anywaayyy, it was great to see you again, but uh…all you came here for was to bring my food, right?" There was a short pause before Daryl continued shamelessly. "Good. The money's over there on the counter, so if you'd like to go ahead and make your way to the exit…" From beneath the sheets, I barely saw Daryl's now hungry smirk. "Because, as you can see, me and this little guy here have some, uh…business to intend to."

Greg responded, "Yeah yeah," and I listened as the footsteps echoed away from us, leading out the door as he slammed it shut.

Daryl scooped my head out from under the sheets and kissed me on the lips.

"Now…" he purred, "Where were we?"

XxXxXxXxX

I finished at Daryl's around four that afternoon. I was still in a bit of a daze from seeing Greg, and not much else could cross my mind at that point. Except the Vesters…I had finally seen (or, technically, _heard) _Greg again, so maybe soon I'd get another chance to see the Vesters?

I didn't allow myself to get my hopes up. As I walked back to my motel room, I was pretty convinced it would never happen. My dream would remain a fantasy, so tempting but just out of reach. It's been two years since they left this horrible little town; there is no reason they'd want to come back.

But soon I had to get back to the reality that was my life. Greg was still untouchable and the Vesters weren't around. I still had a job to do.

Last night I'd agreed to meet up _again_ with Eddy tonight at 10pm. I just stayed in my small motel room until then, watching boring television and eating a sandwich I'd made. I tried to sleep, but it continued to elude me.

When the time came, I begrudgingly got off my ass and headed to the motel.

I at last arrived, briefly knocking before just opening the door. This had become such a routine I didn't even wait for him to open the door anymore.

But, unlike the usual occurrence of finding him naked on the bed, he was actually gathering up his clothes, throwing them on hurriedly. He turned to look at me, a gross grin appearing on his features.

"Guess what Sammy boy," he began. "I just found us another playmate."

XxXxXxXx

By "playmate" he had meant an entire party's worth. Eddy explained how earlier today a friend of a friend had called him and told him about a huge party going on at his friend's friend's brother's house, and he was invited to join in. Eddy also mentioned how the friend of a friend had specifically requested they bring me, and would tip me quite generously just for coming.

Which they did surprisingly enough. When we entered the huge, three-story house, a stack of twenty-dollar bills was immediately slapped into my hand. That hand was then unceremoniously grabbed, dragging me into the center of the room. Males and females alike were crowding the large living space, alcohol spilt all over the floor and some already passed out on the sofa.

I grimaced visibly. Why did people choose to live like this? The horrible reputations and excruciating aftermath when you realized the crazy shit you had done…Didn't they realize how stupid it was?

I shut myself up right then. Out of all people, who was I to judge?

I glanced at the man still clutching my wrist, discerning his dark hair and attractive features. He removed his hold on me to instead wrap a tight arm around my shoulder, squishing me to his side. With his other hand, he raised a beer high into the air, his voice imposing and naturally commanding as he looked to his audience. "Everyone, everyone! If you'll all look this way for a moment please?" Previously unnoticed, all people still conscious now turned their gazes in his direction, smirking and wooting when they saw me beside him. "Now now, folks, don't get too excited! He will not be performing for any of us without payment." He embraced me tighter, his nails starting to jab into my shoulder. "In fact, because he consented on such short notice, tonight we'll be doubling his usual profit, so expect some hefty prices when you're playing with him!" He seemed excited and immensely proud of himself, like he'd done the whole world a favor just by existing.

The increased profits was a plus, though, and it appeared not too many were deterred by it. A tall, blonde man already stood, beckoning me over as he walked toward the stairs.

I left the dark-haired man at my side, and completely forgot about Eddy. I merely followed the man to an empty bedroom upstairs, preparing for the worst.

He closed the door behind us, and we immediately stripped, me being the first to lie on the bed. He soon followed, and we had almost finished a round when the doorknob to our room jiggled.

"Hey!" a man called from behind the door, knocking rapidly. "Benny, you in there?"

The blond-haired man only continued thrusting, and I nudged him on the shoulder, holding in a groan when he pushed deeper. "Hey, someone's talking to you." I didn't really know if this guy's name was Benny, but whatever.

"Benny!" another man yelled, this time a raspier, more familiar voice.

The blonde guy above me smirked. "Yeah," he called back. "Come on in."

I blinked confusedly, then maddeningly swiveled my head to watch as the door opened, revealing two men, one of them the one that had spoken to the crowd, and the other Eddy. The blonde man on top of me now held onto my wrists tightly, immobilizing me.

Had this been planned from the start?

_Fuck._

XxXxXxXxX

I began fighting the man on top of me, screaming my ass off at the same time. I wasn't exactly strong or muscular, but if I could just get someone's attention…

Too soon the other men had reached us and the dark-haired man effectively silenced me with a fist to the face.

They all attacked from different directions. I didn't understand how to defend myself, so I curled into a ball, trying to protect my stomach and head.

A coiled fist found my stomach anyway, though, and I gasped, saliva dripping from my mouth as I curled tighter into myself.

Soon the punches stopped, and rope suddenly appeared in one of their hands. I tried for escape once more, but was quickly losing hope as two of them held me down, the other soon capably tying my wrists to the head of the bed.

"Come on, T, you can tie it tighter than that. He ain't no doll," Eddy said with a lewd smirk, his knuckles grazing over my cheek as he looked into my eyes. "Ain't that right, precious?"

The blond one that had previously been fucking me pushed a dirty sock into my mouth, and I gagged at the intrusion, yelling incoherently into the cloth.

"T," as he was referred to, was the attractive man that had spoken imposingly to the crowd, and he was now leaning over me, tracing a long finger over my nose and lips. He was smirking, and leaned closer to hiss haughtily, "Did I mention you only get paid if we _want_ you to get paid?"

I grit my teeth, hating myself as a tear fell from my eye.

_Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

With Benny and Eddy each at separate sides of the bed, they yanked my legs open, revealing every part of my body that the clients always found desirable. Between my legs sat "T," lying in the middle of the bed and staring intensely at my body, admiring every curve and piece of muscle I had.

He looked up at me, grinning menacingly. "You know what I'm gonna do to ya, right?" He reached out a hand and stroked my thigh, grinning as he let it trail slowly upward. He chortled. "Such a dirty little boy." His eyes met mine again, dark with desire and intent as he asked again, "You know what I'm gonna do, don't ya, boy?"

I gulped, refusing to retort as he maneuvered his hand below me and began digging his fingers into my hole. I gasped into the sock as he stretched me further, and the two men observing us cackled deafeningly, reminding me of a hungry pack of hyenas.

I hissed. Eddy was definitely coming off my clients' list.

After several agonizing moments, "T" removed his hand and bent over the side of the bed, reaching for something underneath.

Sitting up, he looked at me. "See this?" he asked as he brought his arm forward, his hand holding the large object in front of me. My eyes widened in disbelief, then terror, and he only nodded sadistically. "You're right, Sammy boy. This is going straight up your ass."

I screamed again into the sock, kicking uselessly at my captors. What the fuck? I kept fighting, refusing to believe my pleas were going unheard. Couldn't anyone find me? Couldn't they tell something was wrong?

I closed my eyes, trying to endure.

And, really, this was the last place I would have expected to see the Vesters again.

**XxXxXxX**

**Hope you enjoyed^_^**


	3. Chapter 3

**Enjoy! :)**

**XxXxXxXxX**

"Dad, pleasseee."

"No, Dean."

"Pl—."

John turned around, eyes stern. "No."

Dean huffed sullenly, plopping into the seat in a dingy little diner. John went and sat across from him, facing the exit. His arms were crossed on the table, his keen gaze focused on Dean.

"Listen son, I know you really wanted to do that hunt, but Bobby is free and only twenty miles away."

Dean repeatedly tapped his finger on the wooden table, insistent. "Yeah, but we could go over there and help."

John shook his head. "Dean, in reality, it's an easy hunt. Had there been too many of us, we would all be running into each other and shooting at stars. One, or all of us, could've easily gotten hurt."

Dean said nothing for a moment, and then finally sighed heavily in defeat. "Fine, fine…I get it."

"Good," John replied, nodding. He pulled out the newspaper from his back pocket to scan the contents, searching for their next gig.

Cindy the waitress came to take their orders, winking at Dean meaningfully before turning around and scampering to the kitchen.

Dean used his fingernail to pick at the cheap wooden table, pensive.

"Hey Dad…" he began after a long bout of silence.

John looked over the top of the newspaper to gaze at his son. "Yeah?"

Dean didn't look up, merely continuing to chip at the cracks. He didn't really want to do the hunt. It was about someone that was near it…

Dean was deep in thought and unusually quiet, and John raised an eyebrow. He set the paper down to look at him directly. "Dean."

Dean nodded jerkily. "Yeah, yeah…i-it's just…" Dean sighed, rubbing at his eyes fiercely, visibly conflicted with himself. "I…" Removing his hands, John was surprised at the now clear determination in his features, eyes courageous and jaw taut. "I want to see Sam."

Now both of John's eyebrows were high on his head, and he looked at his son with an unidentifiable expression. "Is that so?"

"Yes, sir."

Slowly, John nodded, not quite sure how he should approach this. "Well…have you checked out his town's local newspaper? Maybe there's a potential lead for a gig over there?"

Dean sighed heavily, his eye twitching in dismay. "Yes, sir, I have. There, uhh…doesn't appear to be any…" he swallowed. "Paranormal activity."

John didn't outwardly react, merely continuing to watch Dean with an indefinable expression. "So you're telling me that you want us to drive six hundred miles just so you can go chat with a kid you met two years ago? Not only that, you barely know him, and, oh wait, he's a prostitute."

Dean slammed his hand on the table. "Who cares about that, Dad? Maybe that means we should help him." His teeth were clenched and, to John's surprise and reluctant admiration, he was quite blatantly not backing down. John sighed heavily, rubbing his face in exhaustion.

"Alright, alright. I'll…think about it."

Dean's face shone, but he just barely refrained from smiling. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

John only nodded, sighing again. What had he gotten himself into?

XxXxXxX

It turned out that John was quick to give in to Dean's request—refusing to admit to himself he too wanted to see how Sam was fairing. They arrived in town late the next evening. It was a small and fairly obscure town, and Dean would have called it almost peaceful if he hadn't known about all the fucking perverts inhabiting this godless place.

Dean swallowed hard. He couldn't let himself forget that it was those people Sam got paid by.

Parking at a local grocery store, they climbed out of the Impala, walking through the double doors in hopes of finding clues on Sam's potential whereabouts. The people were meandering about, searching through aisles and leisurely talking to friends and customers. It wasn't out of the norm for local grocery stores, and Dean walked up to a seemingly pleasant woman, who was comparing the prices on two cans of beans.

Dean waved as he came to stand beside her, and her eyes widened as she immediately observed his unnaturally attractive features.

Dean smiled charmingly, and her cheeks instantly grew red. "Hiya, ma'am," he began sweetly, "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

She smiled, appearing flustered as she frantically nodded. "Y-Yes, please do." She swallowed nervously, pulling at the hem of her too-low blouse to reveal more of her ample cleavage.

"Would you happen to know where a kid named Sam Martin lives?"

Her reaction was like a light switch being flickered. Previously ecstatic, her face now showed that of disgust, and she let go of her shirt to squeeze the hand into a small fist. "W-What?" she spat. "You come up to me all prettily only to ask about a fucking slut?"

Dean's mouth opened in shock and outrage, and his eyes narrowed into thin slits, burning holes into the woman. He barely avoided punching her bitch self in the face, and hurriedly threw his fists into his pockets to stop himself. He took a step forward, leaning over to her so they were at eye level. "Listen, I don't give a shit about what a bitch like you thinks," he paused, keeping his calm, deadly appearance as the woman in front of him shrunk under his gaze. "But if you talk about Sam like that again…I will kill you."

He wasn't going to kill her but, if need be, he was more than prepared to injure.

Her eyes were wide with absolute astonishment, blatantly intimidated as she suddenly cowered her head, low and toward the floor. Her feet began to shift away, and Dean noted it was toward the exit.

He saw the great effort she was making to hide it, though, and he wanted to smirk and laugh at her face for being such a wimpy bitch.

His desperation for finding Sam was growing greater, though, and he thought he'd give this woman one more chance. Dean spoke low and precise, his eyes deadly and voice cold. "Now…can you tell me…where is Sam Martin?"

Her mouth quivered, her lips trembling as she opened her mouth. She said nothing for a long moment, as if debating to answer his question or scream for help. Eventually, she licked her lips, trying to appear unafraid as she raised her head and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "M-My younger brother is hosting a big party at h-his house tonight." Her voice shook. "S-Sa.."

Dean fumed. Could she not say his fucking _name?_

"_S-Sam_," she finally spat out, " might be there to act as the form of…" she sneered, her upper lip rising in disgust, "Entertainment."

Dean's stomach rumbled in trepidation. He didn't like the sound of that, not one bit.

"And if he's not there? Do you know where he lives?"

She immediately spat, "Why would I know where the town slut lives?" Her eyes widened and she fumbled furiously to digress. "N-No…uh. No, I don't know where he lives."

Dean stared at her, not bothering to hide any of the none-too-happy emotions crossing his features. Is this kind of reaction something Sam has been dealing with all this time? Are all the townspeople like this? Is he truly alone?

The woman was trembling violently and, after Dean felt satisfied, stopped staring, instead forcing her to give them directions to her brother's house.

"When will this party begin?"

She pursed her lips, and Dean could tell she was itching for him to go away now. "I don't know. I guess around midnight, maybe later."

Dean nodded, not bothering to thank her as he made his way to the exit. His anger was still simmering uncontrollably, though, and he felt the urge to lash out at someone, someone fucking _deserving _of his rage_. _

He stopped at the door, turning to the prying crowd that had first begun to gather at mention of Sam's name.

Dean could not be more disgusted. He raised his voice, ensuring that each and every asshole here could hear him. "Sam did not choose the life he has; he was forced into it. If you judgmental bastards would get your _heads _out of your _asses, _you would realize what a great kid Sam is."

At that, he turned back around and punched the door open, hearing John follow closely behind him, humming in approval.

Dean listened until the door closed to the long string of murmurs spreading through the crowd.

XxXxXxXxX

It was past 10 o'clock and the Winchesters were sitting in their newly paid for motel room, some creepy guy "Harry" having given them the key. Dean had been pacing for hours, head down, mouth taut, and eyebrows drooping downward. He didn't look to be stopping anytime soon until, of course, he did, halting in place and glancing at his watch. He turned to John, eyes sparkling with determination. "Dad, I can't fucking wait anymore."

Though John didn't want to admit he was in agreement, he nodded furiously before running with Dean to the Impala, revving it up and following the woman's directions to the house.

John, who had stood as a constant bystander to Dean and the woman's conversation, now sat with grit teeth, hands tense on the wheel. "Dean, if Sam really is there for his…job, it's quite likely he could be taken advantage of."

Dean said nothing for a long moment, just staring hard out the window with his hands clasped tightly together, as if praying.

"I know. Damn it, I fucking know…" Dean sighed heavily, closing his eyes and leaning his face into his palm. "Just fucking drive faster."

John obeyed, and soon they were driving up to a large house that had numerous cars lined up along the sidewalk. The Winchesters nearly threw themselves out of the Impala to reach the front door of the house, and Dean knocked rapidly and loudly on the expensive mahogany.

Several long, agonizing moments later, a slurred, "Coming, coming…" was heard, and the door opened to reveal a very pale, very naked man slurping on his beer. "Ya here for da party?" He burped obnoxiously, and then giggled at his own stupidity. "The alcohol here is great, man."

Dean and John glanced at each other, then maneuvered around the man, entering the house and immediately searching for Sam.

There were many make-out and vomiting sessions, but neither Winchester could identify any of the partakers as their Sam.

John signaled Dean, nodding his head at a wooden staircase. They made their way up, individually opening each door they found.

After the third Samless room and losing hope, they heard a distinct, muffled yell come from the fourth room. Dean looked at his father, then burst the door open, not even caring as he knocked it off its hinges.

What they found there would be forever burned into their memories. Dean could only gasp in stunned horror as he looked at the scene before him. Two men stood on either side of the bed beside Sam, holding both his legs apart. A third man lay between them, and he was, he was…

Dean's teeth clenched and his face turned red with unadulterated fury, and before he even knew he was moving he was already throwing punches at the nearest fucker he could get his hands on. The main culprit was first, the one that was fucking…fucking _shoving_ stuff up Sam's butt. Dean growled as his fist met the bastard's face, not feeling nearly as much satisfaction as he wanted when a bone cracked beneath his knuckles. He tried again, feeling a bit better when more cracks and screams elicited from his ensnared victim.

The two men that had been holding Sam's legs let go quickly, preparing to flee until both John and Dean took them on together, knocking them out in a matter of seconds.

When all three fleshy punching bags were horizontal on the ground, Dean turned with scared eyes toward the bed. Sam's hands were tied to the head of the bed, a sock was stuffed in his mouth, and there were bruises beginning to form around his ankles where the two men had been holding him.

Dean trailed his gaze up, staring into Sam's eyes. Dean's mouth began to tremble, looking into those beautiful orbs that were so wide with shock and what painfully looked like shame that Dean wanted to cry.

He stepped forward to stand directly beside the bed, reaching out and carefully removing the horrid sock from Sam's mouth. Dean calmed his rage before he went berserk, tossing the sock away and turning back to Sam. He was coughing now that the obstruction was removed. Dean waited for him to stop before swallowing hard, once again reaching out toward Sam. He was glad when the boy didn't flinch, and he softly cupped his cheek in the palm of his hand.

Dean tried to crack a smile, probably failing as he felt his eyes water. "Hiya Sammy."

With that, Sam's waterworks truly began, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto Dean's thumb. "D-Dean," he cried, hiccupping as he snuggled deeply into the older man's palm.

Dean sat on the bed and held Sam to his chest, the thin boy immediately welcoming the warmth. John got on the other side of the bed cutting the rope from around Sam's hands. Sam looked up when the pressure was released, and he brought his hands to his chest, rubbing his wrists.

"Here, let me see," Dean said softly as he took one into both of his hands. The wrist was messy with blood where he had fought against the binds, and he observed it was the same on the other wrist, too.

He caressed the marred skin softly, barely allowing contact. There his gaze drifted to Sam's chest, noting the broken flesh and forming bruises. Dean's blood pressure rose, and he closed his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to stifle his rage. He had been so eager to see Sam again, but this was nothing like how he'd been hoping they'd meet.

"Sam, we should get this treated. I…" _I think we should take you to our motel room and get this fixed. _But…would Sam be okay with that? Did the kid still have those horrible phobias? He had been able to enter John and Dean's room last time but, had Sam been through even _more_ shit to cause even worse phobias? Should Dean chance asking him?

Looking at the dribble of blood coming from his split lip, though, Dean's decision was made. If necessity calls for it, they won't use the motel room, but they _will _be patching Sam up. Time after time, Sam gets abused, and Dean has been able to do nothing.

_What other horrors have I not saved him from?_

In contrast to what Dean expected, Sam was nodding, as if understanding what Dean was going to ask. He understood what Dean was going to ask, and was okay with it.

Dean wanted to be certain though, and he gathered his courage. "C-Can we take you home? To patch you up?"

Sam nodded, his eyes absent of fear. "Yes."

Dean refrained from a sigh of relief, but he was nevertheless comforted by Sam's response.

Like he was handling a small bird, Dean gently pushed Sam into a sitting position. Sam gasped loudly in response, his hand immediately flying to his ass.

Dean mentally shot himself on the spot, screaming at himself for his negligence. He had fucked up, allowing himself to forget what those bastards had been doing to Sam in the first place…

"O-Okay, Sam…I'm…I'm going to take it out." Dean held his hands up high to demonstrate innocence. The last time someone did something like this to Sam, Greg was there to save the day. Dean absently wondered where he was, and how he hadn't talked Sam out of going to a stupid drunken party for work.

Sam looked at him with wide eyes then, after a long moment, gave a tentative, pained nod. With one hand, Dean placed it carefully over Sam's eyes, shielding him, while the other gradually reached out, agonizing slow as he went to grasp the wire leading to the kid's ass. He followed the trail, trying to ignore the violent tremors coming from Sam's body as he reached the base of the object, slowly pulling it out.

"Fuck," Dean hissed as a mewl came from Sam's mouth. The kid put his wrist in his mouth, stifling his groans by biting down hard.

Finally, Dean fully pulled it out, holding the blow dryer by its base. He threw it across the room, ignoring the bang it made as it hit the wall. Dean hated the way Sam was cowering, the way his eyebrows were creased in agony.

The way Dean couldn't make his pain go away.

Dean briefly looked down…_there_ to inspect Sam for injuries. The rim of his butthole was red with irritation. The base of the blow dryer was smaller than average but still thick (it was a _fucking blow dryer)_, so he wasn't surprised.

Dean seethed with rage, but did his best to contain it as he went to gather Sam's clothes.

He didn't need to look far, though, because John was standing beside him, clothes in hand and holding them out to Dean. After they had beaten up those three bastards, John had watched silently as Dean gently and softly cared for Sam.

Dean took the clothes gratefully. He knew his dad cared for Sam more than he'd like to admit. The shimmer in his eyes had been enough proof, and Dean understood his reactions perfectly.

With meticulous care, Dean pulled Sam into his clothes. Sam whimpered as the boxers and jeans came on, but once those were done it was slightly more bearable.

"Alright Sammy, let's get you out of here." Dean guided Sam to the edge of the bed, allowing Sam some freedom as he stood shakily.

After a moment, Sam's mouth was still in a wide grimace, and he didn't make any attempts to move forward.

Dean took a small step closer. "Sammy..?"

Sweat dripped down Sam's forehead, and he bent his head to hide his eyes. "H-Hurts."

Dean hissed under his breath. Gently pulling Sam into his arms, Dean put one hand on Sam's shoulder and the other on the underside of his knees. "Can I carry you, Sammy?"

Forehead glistening, Sam nodded.

Gently, so so gently, Dean lifted Sam into his arms, nestling him close to his chest, his heart breaking at the hiss that escaped Sam's mouth. Dean looked to his father, and the two shared a look. Their look implied one objective—protect Sammy.

Dean stepped over one of the bodies on the floor, and it took all his willpower not to smash that fugly face into the carpet. Smash it until his head was cracked and his brain was seeping out of his skull…

As it turned out, escape had not been difficult. Almost everyone was intoxicated, and no one showed any signs of recognizing there were three bastard men unconscious on the second floor. John found them a back exit in the house, and Dean crept swiftly out the door and toward the Impala.

Dean spoke soothingly into Sam's ear. "We're gonna get you home, Sammy. We're gonna get you home."

XxXxXxXxX

The promise was kept, and soon they were driving up to their dingy motel, John parking the Impala in front of the dilapidated building.

Dean had been in the backseat with Sam, resting him against his chest and stroking his hair. The kid hadn't fallen asleep, but he did seem to reach a state of blissful comfort. He looked younger than Dean had ever seen him, and he hated to move him.

With some regret, Dean pushed lightly against Sam's back. Sam didn't move away, and only squeezed Dean's shirt tighter in his grip.

Dean understood his need for comfort, and bundled the kid into his arms. Masterfully and in a way Dean didn't know himself, he got out of the Impala, Sam in hand. He let John close the door behind him, and it wasn't until now that Sammy had lifted his head to peer at his surroundings.

Dean watched his reaction carefully. Would he decide he didn't want to go through with it, that being in another man's house was too much for him?

Sam's reaction was not frightened or scared, but he was not happy. He seemed to have a look of dread.

He turned to Dean, looking up at him with big eyes. "Is this your motel?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, Sammy…you don't like it?"

Sam paused for a moment. "Mmm…" he responded cryptically.

John reached the entrance to their room, unlocking and opening the door. Salt was nestled along the doorframe on the floor, and Dean was thankful Sam chose not to ask about it. An eyebrow did raise, though.

No newspapers adorned the walls this time. It was a small room, barely enough for two grown men. Sam's lips were downturned in a frown.

"Okay, Sammy, let's look at your wounds." He placed Sam gingerly onto the bed, and Sam's face twitched in pain as his butt made contact with the mattress.

Dean winced in sympathy, and quickly gathered the first aid kit. He began work immediately, caring for his split lip and bruised torso. For all the bastards that hit him, they did one hell of a thorough job. The bruises were scattered haphazardly across his stomach and chest, angry black and blue spots that stared cruelly back at Dean. He wished he had done more damage to those bastards.

Dean tried to ignore his rage as best he could as he patched Sammy up. He knew Sam could be in a precarious position right now. He was…Dean swallowed. He was _hurt_ by a bunch of fucking wackos, and now Sam was in a man's house right now. He had known Dean and John before, but maybe his trust wasn't so encompassing anymore.

Sam didn't seem concerned or frightened, though. He was merely watching Dean as he worked, curious like a puppy. To a certain degree, it both confused Dean and swelled his heart with happiness.

After the ointments and creams were applied on Sam's torso and lip, Dean licked his lips, hesitant about the next step.

But Sam's face was no longer curious or cute, and he shook his head, backing up. "No, no…I'm fine…there."

Dean sighed. "Sammy, it looked inflamed. It won't hurt nearly as much once we…"

"_No."_

Dean sighed in quiet distress. Should he force it on Sam? Physically, it would be for the better, but would that invade his privacy and trust? What should he do?

John slowly stepped forward, kneeling in front of Sam. "Listen Sammy, I know this is hard; I can't even imagine how hard." John's eyes were shining, and just watching made a tear fall from Dean's eye. "You were hurt in the worst way imaginable, and we want to patch you up now."

The man's words were simple, but so potent with emotion Dean had to choke back a sob. It was in that moment that Dean fully understood the extent that John cared for Sam. He wasn't just some kid living in poor circumstances that John felt obligated to take care of. Sam was a precious child he wanted to care for and protect. Sam was a _son. _

Sam seemed to see this, as well. His eyes welled up with tears, and he slowly nodded, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes. "O-Okay."

John nodded, trying to give his best appearance of reassurance. Dean could see him wracked with small tremors, though, and Dean knew this wouldn't be easy for him. It wouldn't be easy for any of them.

The three men mentally prepared themselves, and the two Winchesters gathered the necessary supplies to help their Sammy.

Sam was sleeping in Dean's bed, farthest from the door. Dean sat at the small wooden table, sipping at a cup of coffee as he continued watching over the boy in the bed. John had headed out not long ago to buy more coffee, and Dean had taken it upon himself to act as the motel room guardian.

After they'd applied generous amounts of ointment and had him take some antibiotics, Sam fell swiftly and silently to sleep. For the most part he looked at peace, and Dean couldn't seem to take his eyes off him. What had they missed while they were gone? It had been two years since they'd seen Sam, and what they'd seen so far was not pretty. Not pretty at all…

Dean clenched his teeth, tightening his grip on the coffee cup. Sam had so many scars on his body. How many were old, how many were new? How many emotional scars did Sam have that Dean and John could have saved him from if they'd stayed?

And what about Sam's friend Greg? Where is he in all this? Dean remembered how close they were, how protective Greg was of Sam. What was going on?

Dean's stomach was starting to rumble in anxiety, and he decided this thought process was not safe for him. All that mattered right now was that Sam was in front of him and _alive. _

The lock on the front door rattled, and Dean jumped out of his chair, the coffee forgotten on the table as he replaced it with the gun from his back pocket.

The rattling stopped, and then there were knocks on the door, 2 rapid ones then another, more delayed.

Dean heaved a sigh of relief. That was his and Dad's signal. He put the gun back in its place, walking over and unlocking and opening the door.

John had a tray of 3 coffee cups and a fast food bag in his hands, his gaze sheepish. "Sorry, son, I forgot."

Dean chuckled, nodding his forgiveness. John was probably anxious to see Sammy again; Dean could understand that more than anyone.

John came into the room and Dean shut it behind him.

Dean turned to see Sam was awake, sitting up and eyes curious as he watched the two Vesters.

"Sorry Sammy, didn't mean to wake ya," John said, setting the tray and food onto the wooden table before standing by Sam's bed. "How you feeling?"

Sam nodded. "Be—," he stopped, clearing his throat. "Better. T-Thank you."

John smiled, "Yeah, no problem."

Dean was taking out the food out of the McDonald's bag. "Hey Sammy, you hungry?"

Sam shook his head. "No. T-Thank you."

Dean watched Sam a moment longer to test his sincerity. He didn't want to push food on him if he didn't want it. Dean let it be, but promised himself to shove food down the kid's throat later.

"What room number is this?"

Dean blinked. "What?"

"This motel room. What room number is it?"

There was a pause, and Dean raised an eyebrow. "Three. Why?"

Sam merely shrugged, looking away. His gaze wasn't averted for long though, and soon his eyes were again locked on Dean and John. Here they were, in the flesh. They weren't manifesting in his dreams or lingering in his daily fantasies. They were _here. _

Sam's eyes grew watery, and he hastily rubbed the back of his hand over his face.

"Y—Y'all came back."

Dean smiled lightly, nodding. "Yeah." His smile suddenly brightened. "Yeah we did."

Sam gave a small smile in return. He had so many things to ask them. Why did they come back? Was it for Sam? Was it for their work? Were they going to stay now that they were here, or was this only a temporary visit?

All these questions were cluttered inside his brain, but he got the chance to ask none of them as he let out a long yawn. He covered his mouth and stifled a flinch as the cut on the corner of his lips stretched and stung.

Dean walked over to the bed, tucking him in. "Okay Sammy. It's still early, go back to sleep."

Sam glanced at the clock reading _6:26am, _and allowed Dean to gently place the sheets back over his torso, snuggling it into his neck.

He must have been exhausted to be able to fall asleep so quickly last night. Nobody had been in the bed with him, right? By the time Sam was falling asleep, John was cleaning up the supplies and Dean was watching Sam from the opposite bed. How could he have fallen asleep so easily when a bodily necessity demanded someone be in the bed with him?

"Sleep with me, please."

Even before those words left his mouth, Sam wanted to kill himself. Why did he ask that? _Fuck. _Dean would never want to sleep in the same bed as Sam. Hell, he probably won't _ever _want to sleep in this bed again now that Sam has tainted it.

Dean creased his eyebrows and turned his head, watching Sam closely. From his peripheral, Sam could tell John had stopped what he was doing, and now he merely stood there frozen, back turned to them.

"W-What, Sammy?" Dean asked. He probably thought he'd heard wrong, Sam considered. Or, maybe he is interpreting "sleep" as _sex. _Sam's stomach churned at the thought of Dean's revulsion.

"I…I can't sleep alone. I…" Sam blinked, turning his gaze away. "I don't know why."

Dean probably thought his phobias from two years ago were still in tact and that he'd actually developed more. Sam couldn't blame him. If he had a phobia for being in someone's home, then _surely _being in someone's bed was unspeakable. Maybe Dean thought this was just a ploy to get him into bed and fuck him.

Sam moved the sheets to cover part of his face. He could feel blood rushing to his cheeks and he felt so fucking embarrassed. But no matter how mortified he felt, he couldn't take back his words. More than anything, he wanted Dean lying there beside him.

Dean slipped out of his shoes and walked over to the other side of the bed, sliding in to rest beside Sam.

Sam's heart nearly beat out of his chest. _Dean doesn't hate me, Dean doesn't hate me. _

Now that Dean was closer, Sam could see clearly the dark smudges under his eyes. Did Dean not sleep at all last night? Had he been watching over Sam this entire time?

Sam's cheeks grew hot again and he forced his smile away.

Before Sam could stop himself, he turned into Dean's side, being careful of his injuries and sore butt. Dean immediately responded, wrapping his arm gingerly around Sam's body. Dean's body was so warm it almost felt like a furnace.

Never before had Sam felt so safe. Is this what having a brother felt like? He could live here forever.

Sam could hear Dean saying something now, but for the life of him he couldn't understand the words. He could feel his own mind drifting, and soon everything was a lull. His eyes closed without his permission, and he fell into blissful sleep.

XxXxXxXxXxX

A loud wailing noise startled Sam awake. His eyes flew open and he was met with Dean's strong chest.

"Sam! I know you're in there. Sam!"

Sam noticed Dean was awake too, his gaze deadly as he threw himself out of the bed.

Sam plummeted to the mattress, once on Dean's firm chest and now smelling moldy sheets. Sam's senses were starting to awaken, and the noise sounded like pounding on a door. It was echo-y though and seemingly far away. The person wasn't knocking on Dean and John's door; they were knocking on Sam's.

"Sam! I know we did it yesterday but I'm horny and I need you."

Sam internally groaned, his cheeks flaming red. Harry did this occasionally. They were set to meet on all Sundays, but sometimes it rolled over into Monday's activities, depending on how aroused Harry was. Usually Sam didn't complain, but…today…

John had stood from the small table, and both of the Vesters' eyes were deadly and dark, almost piercing through the door itself.

"Sam!" The fist on the door grew louder, and Sam truly hoped Harry would get the message soon. Sam was physically in no way ready for…_that. _

But did it matter if he felt too injured for sex? Harry was the only motel owner that was willing to house him, and the thought of living on the streets again repulsed Sam more than ever. Sam has endured immense pain from sex numerous times in the past; why was now any different?

Looking to one Vester then the next, Sam knew the answer. He didn't want to leave Dean and John. He didn't want to leave them _knowing _they knew what revolting acts he would be taking part in.

But he had no choice.

The internal conflict was raging deafeningly within Sam. What should he do? What was his best mode of action?

Taking a deep breath, Sam decided. His choice was obvious. The loud knocking could still be heard from outside, and Sam scooted over to the edge of the bed. He kept a hiss from escaping his lips as he stood, feeling the rim of his hole stretch and sting.

Dean rushed to Sam as he began to stand, almost physically pushing him back onto the bed. "_No, _Sammy, I'm not letting you go out there."

Absently, Sam realized how much he missed that nickname coming from Dean. When clients said it, it felt condescending, mocking. But…when Dean said it, it seemed protective, like he was talking to a little brother he needed to care for.

Sam let a small smile cross his face. He truly had missed the Vesters.

XxXxXxXxX

**Sam's POV**

I'd finally gotten a chance to see the Vesters again, to _finally _do the one thing I had thought most about these past two years. But, was it all for nothing? If Dean and John's presence was temporary, my time with Harry would waste precious time with them that I couldn't afford to lose.

Unfortunately, though, Harry was not a client I could easily ignore. Not only did he know where I live, but he was also the _reason _I had a place to live. He determined if I lived on the streets or in a motel room so there wasn't much negotiating I was willing to chance.

I turned to Dean. "H-How long are you both intending to stay?"

I knew not satisfying Harry would become something I regret, but I also didn't want to risk the Vesters leaving while I was gone. That…that was something I could not live with.

Dean shook his head vehemently. "Doesn't matter, you're not going anywhere."

I shook my head. "_Please."_ Dean seemed to stop short at that, and I continued. "Harry is the only motel owner willing to give me a room. I…I don't want to risk losing it."

Dean seemed torn, and I couldn't blame him. If he genuinely was worried for my well-being, this was not a task he would want me undertaking. I got that, I truly did, but I also recognized my own limitations in this town. If I lost Harry's motel room, there was genuinely nowhere else I could go.

Dean's face lit up, and he quickly turned to face me. "What if you stayed here?"

I blinked. "What?"

Dean's voice grew with conviction, and I watched as he spoke animatedly, "What if you stayed here with _us? _Harry would never have to know and you'd never have to…" Dean choked for a moment but recovered quickly. "Do stuff with him anymore."

That was not something I had considered. It didn't cross my mind because subconsciously I probably realized I'd be a burden to the Vesters. I wanted to be a part of their life, but as a friend, not a freeloader.

Would they even be willing to house me? Dean offered it in the heat of the moment, but this room wasn't huge, and I was…me, so whose to say they could even endure that? Maybe I stay in their room for a day then they realize they can't stand being invaded by my filth?

Just as I was about to decline, John spoke up. "I agree."

Gosh. Their soft words and safe arms were so tempting. I was so enticed by the fantasy of staying with the Vesters. Following them and helping them put criminals behind bars. Listening to Dean's lame jokes and watching John's head shake of disapproval. Observing as they walked together, side-by-side, as a _family. _

That whole world was something I ached for with all my heart.

But I knew better.

I hated myself for my ridiculous dream. I would be nothing but a burden to them. I couldn't let myself forget who I was, what I deserved.

I shook my head, not looking either of them in the eye. "N-No...you don't want that..."

"We _do, _Sammy." Dean moved to stand beside me and bent down until we were eye level. His gaze was strong and demanded my attention. "We want you to stay with us."

Nothing seemed to exist outside Dean and me. His beautiful green eyes looked into my own. His firm hand rested on my shoulder, his thumb dipping into my collarbone. His lips were pursed into a thin line, as if he absolutely refused to take "no" for an answer, but was ready to fight if he needed to beat some sense into me.

It was hard for me to believe such amazing people actually _wanted _me, but my resolve was crumbling. I wanted so, _so_ bad to stay with them.

The noise-cancelling bubble I created around Dean and I seemed to shatter, and I could distinctly hear Harry banging loudly on my door. "You know I have a fucking _mastery key,_ right, Sammy? Don't _make _me come in there!"

I gulped. If I ever _did _run into him again, it certainly wouldn't be on good terms.

But now my resolve was nothing. John and Dean were watching me expectantly, and I let a small smile rest on my features.

I nodded hesitantly. "O-Okay. I'll s-stay."

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Chapter 3 complete. Hope you liked it! Feel free to review^_^**


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay, I'm a lying loser. This is an EXTREMELY short chapter. My next update shall be significantly longer. Sorry about this.**

**XxXxXxX**

**2 Weeks Later**

Staying with the Vesters…really, I'm still speechless. For the first time in two years, I have felt like I belong. What was that show about the sponge and the pink starfish I watched fleetingly as a child? The starfish was a fucking idiot, but he still belonged in the seemingly homosexual sponge's life. They were friends, despite their differences.

It's as close to Heaven as I have ever endured.

…Maybe there is a God?

I scrubbed harder at the specks of mold inhabiting one corner of the bathroom wall. Heaven probably didn't involve grody, gunky stuff on walls, but I didn't complain. The Vesters fed me and took care of me. They deserved my gratitude, something I didn't believe I could ever fully put into words.

The two of them seemed on-edge, too, and I felt solely to blame. It was because Harry was still in such close proximity. Every day he still knocked and yelled at my door, and on weekends he would burst through my room to find it empty. The following silence was unnerving.

I understood Dean and John's difficulties, though. It had honestly always been hard for me, too. Harry had a master key, and he could've easily come into my room at any time.

I shuddered, pushing those thoughts away. I quietly continued my work, knowing Dean was still sleeping while John had left a few hours ago. Dean explained to me he had found some police work to take care of, and he'd do that while Dean took care of me.

That I did resent a bit. It's been two weeks. I was fully healed, why couldn't he be there to help his dad?

I stopped scrubbing for a moment, lost in thought. More than that, it's been two weeks since I'd seen Greg. I needed, _craved, _to see him again, but it seemed I could only accomplish that through Daryl.

I sighed quietly. I had to figure out a way to convince Dean and John to continue my seedy occupation. I'd put it on hiatus since I've lived with them, but my longing to see Greg has grown. Now that I've seen him, there was no going back.

A moaning noise came from outside the bathroom, and I stepped out curiously. Dean tossed to one side then the other, and I immediately went to the small bed.

"Sa…Sammy." His fists were clenched tightly onto the sheets, his knuckles white as he nearly tore them in half.

My heart fluttered at the name, and I raised a hand, ready to awaken him. He was obviously having a vivid dream, somehow involving me, and I doubt it was anything good. Was it possible I was dying?

Or was Dean dying and I did nothing but watch?

I swallowed, hoping it was neither. I tapped him on the shoulder, harder when it still had no effect.

After a few moments, his eyes flew open, his gaze tearing through the room as he sought out his imagined enemy.

"It's okay, Dean. It was just a bad dream." I wanted to touch him, console him, but he seemed unsteady. His body was trembling, his lower lip twitching, and his eyes were still roaming wildly, in search of something I couldn't understand.

"Dean. _Dean." _This time I did touch him, and he stared at me as though he hadn't even realized I was there.

"Sammy…Sammy…" He blew out a breath in relief and held a hand to his heart. "Fuck, Sammy. Sorry. Just had a fucking terrible dream." He was still taking deep breaths, his emotions still at odds with the simple surroundings of reality.

Still recovering, he padded the spot beside him on the bed. "Come join me, Sammy. I'm useless and need some company."

I offered a small smile, climbing in and tucking myself into his side. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, petting it softly.

It didn't take long for his breaths to slow back to a balanced pace. He stopped shaking, and eventually everything about him seemed back to normal. Now we were just laying there for the hell of it, and I absently wondered if Dean was starting to get uncomfortable now.

He seemed like such a tough guy; he probably didn't like showing his emotions much. He had relied on me for security and, now that the moment has passed, do I continue my role as consoler? Should I say something? Should I just move?

I silently cursed myself for not knowing social protocols. Think, Sam, your rough and gruff police friend did something atypical, and probably feels embarrassed. What shouldyou do?

Thankfully, it wasn't long before Dean initiated what I could not.

"Sammy…"

My ears peaked at that. I wasn't usually good at this kind of stuff, but his voice sounded awfully pensive. While I've been blindly searching for the proper social etiquette, has he been thinking on an entirely different plane?

I turned my head in his direction curiously.

"I…I know me and Dad left you for a long time after…ya know, everything that happened with…with…with that fucking Coleman." My former boss at my former occupation at The Ramrod. He swallowed and squeezed me tighter to him. "How have you been?"

I blinked, surprised at the sudden turn. He just had a violent nightmare and he was concerned about _me? _Was the question relevant to his nightmare or was this something that's been eating at him all this time?

That was a tough question to answer, though…it's not something I had ever given much thought. It never occurred to me my life might be "good" or "bad." It just…_was. _I was alive. That's all I knew.

"It's…been alright, I guess. My phobias have disappeared. I'm essentially a full-time prostitute now, so I'm better off financially."

I didn't turn to see the expression on Dean's face, but I'm sure it wasn't something I'd want to see. He was in bed with a prostitute, and he was _touching _that prostituteright now. The fact he didn't jump out of the bed and run right out the door was nothing but a stark relief to me.

Dean swallowed audibly. "And…and have you been…okay with it? Like…" I could tell he was having trouble forming the words. They were all in a jumble in his head. "Are you…are you _okay?"_

Was I? _Was _I okay? I woke up every morning without trying to kill myself. My phobias were replaced with the inability to sleep alone. Before living with the Vesters I got fucked or raped every day.

Was I okay?

I shrugged into his strong chest. "Could be better, but, ya know…could be worse." I heard Dean huff lightly in disagreement. "It's not all bad. Sometimes I kind of enj—."

And that train of thought could stop right _fucking _there. Was I about to admit to Dean I sometimes _enjoyed _fucking with other men? Was I really about to let that form of humiliation be known to what was probably the most important person in my life?

"Sometimes? Sometimes what?" Dean prodded curiously.

"I sometimes…uh." I was such an idiot. I trusted Dean, I trusted him to my very core, but this was not something I could allow to happen again. Being around him just makes me so…so _happy_, and I unwittingly put my barriers down.

For someone like me, that just wasn't safe.

I continued. "Sometimes I hang out in the park and watch the little kids play."

Not entirely true. I did try that once, but all the mothers' there cursed me, spit on me, and hit me with everything they could get their hands on. After all, no one could trust me around their children. I might "taint" them.

"Aw, that must be fun." I could hear the bright smile in Dean's voice. How could I make him happy with such trivial stories like that? How was it so easy? "What else do you do for fun?"

If I was any other person in the world, this would probably be an easy question.

I contemplated and, after finding nothing, provided a default answer. "Sleeping is pretty fun?"

Not necessarily true since I could only sleep with my horny customers, but it was also a nice escape from reality. No matter how fleeting.

I was starting to sense Dean's questions would get real difficult real fast if I didn't stop this, though.

"What about you, what do you do for fun?"

This time it was me that was met with odd silence. I waited a moment then shifted my gaze ever so slightly to watch him. He seemed to be searching for something that wasn't there. Did he not do anything fun, either?

But then it was like a light bulb went off in his head, and he quickly began. "I like shooting pool and scamming bitches out of their money. I like beer and women." He paused, and then added importantly. "And I like pie."

I giggled slightly at the last part. It's been a while since I've had something sweet, and I was oddly curious about it's flavor. If Dean liked it, then it must be good.

"Hm. Never played pool, I usually only do men, and I don't really remember the taste of sweets."

It occurred to me only after the fact that that wasn't a great response. I had genuinely wanted to contribute and be as fascinating as Dean sounded, but that was just silly idolism on my part. Of course I couldn't be cool like Dean.

"You've…I…" He seemed stunned into silence, and I hated myself for being the cause.

I took a peak at his expression and I saw anger. Fierce anger, whether at me or the world I wasn't sure.

It was probably good I didn't mention the only time I've ever had beer was when someone shoved it in my ass and seriously got me drunk on it.

Dean suddenly jumped out of the bed, and I nearly slid onto my face he was so quick. I managed to catch myself, and immediately looked to Dean, finding him putting on a shirt.

"Come on, Sammy. I'm gonna teach you how to play pool."

I blinked, and it took me a few seconds to catch up with his train of thought.

"Ah. No, no thank you. I have no reason to learn it."

He snorted lightly. "It's _fun. _That's reason enough to learn it."

I shook my head. "No no, I _really _don't want to."

Dean dragged me out of the bed, and any resistance I put up was evidently futile. I appreciated his enthusiasm and strong will to make me have fun, but this was not the way to do it.

"No, Dean, really…"

Dean grinned, his grip on me the whole time as he hauled me out the door and into the parking lot. "I saw a bar a couple blocks down. I'm not taking 'no' for an answer, Sammy. This is happening."

I gulped. This would not end well.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**So this chapter barely helped the plot progress, but at least there was fluff, right? We're going to be entering a mixture of both fluff and angst soon. An interesting combination.**

**Hope you enjoyed! **


	5. Chapter 5

**As promised, this one is successfully longer^_^**

**Enjoy!**

**XxXxXxX**

Part of me wished Dean would develop a sudden, temporary form of short-term memory loss, but no such thing happened. He had no problem finding the bar, and all too soon we were walking through the parking lot and toward the building.

Dean still didn't understand why I was so hesitant. He just wanted me to loosen up, have fun, but…being in public…that was no way for someone like _me _to have fun.

Dean opened the door for me, leading me in with a bright smile and beautiful white teeth.

The place was loud and reeking of alcohol. My immediate reaction was to shy away, or make a run for it when Dean's back was turned, but I'd try to see this through. I was already here; might as well find out if it's as bad as I think it'll be.

Dean took the lead and we walked toward an empty pool table. Off the top of my head, I don't think I've been in a true bar. The Ramrod, the closest thing to a bar that I've encountered, reeked of testosterone and sweat, but never this much alcohol. How many people here couldn't even walk straight? How many were so intoxicated they could so easily be taken advantage of, pickpocketed or raped?

But maybe that didn't matter to them. The horrors of reality weren't relevant until you were living them, right?

Dean grabbed two pool sticks, and he gave one to me. It felt awkward in my hands, and just the thought of me actually _using _this would probably be the most ridiculous sight ever.

"Okay Sammy," he led me to one end of the table. The balls were lined up in a triangular fashion on the other side of the table, while there was one lone ball remaining on our side. Dean leaned down and aimed his stick at the ostracized one. "This is how you line up the shot."

He explained kindly and patiently the technique for holding the awkward stick. He looked so agile, and I tried my best to replicate the fingering on my own stick.

After the explanation, he hit the nearest ball, and I watched as it rolled and collided with the large pack of balls. His swing was so smooth; he looked like a true natural. He sunk two balls into separate holes. He had explained you typically keep going until you miss, but Dean stepped aside, signaling my turn.

"Go for it, Sammy," he said with a smile.

I was seeing that smile a lot lately. I liked it.

I went to stand behind the main ball (the "cue ball," Dean had said) and did my best. Typically, my best is not enough, and this was no exception.

The cue ball went momentarily airborne, jumping and smacking into another ball. No balls fell into a pocket.

Dean chuckled, walking over. "Make sure you aim at the center of the ball. You hit too low so it went up." He moved back. "Try again."

I nodded, traveling to the other side of the table to get a better angle. I lined up my shot, hoping to hit the ball with a "4" on it into a corner pocket.

I missed spectacularly but, apparently, not in a bad way. I missed the 4 ball entirely, but I somehow sunk the 11 ball into a pocket.

"Nice one, Sammy!" Dean exclaimed, his expression so proud I looked down bashfully.

"That's not the ball I was aiming for."

Dean shrugged with a smile. "A ball's a ball. Which one were you aiming for anyway?"

I pointed across the table to the 4.

A moment of silence passed, and then Dean was howling with laughter. "Fuck, that is so _adorable."_

My cheeks were bright red by now, and I smacked him across the shoulder. What an ass.

I couldn't help but chuckle, though. This pool thing was tough. I wasn't having a horrible time like I thought I would, though. I understood why Dean enjoyed it.

"A'ight, go again, Sammy."

I groaned, slapping at him ridiculously. "Aww, why can't it be yourrr turn?"

"Because I am not the one that so epically sunk a ball in the opposite direction of where I was aiming." He nudged his head forward toward the cue ball. "Now go."

I grumbled but did as I was told. Dean looked like he was really enjoying himself, and he genuinely seemed to want to watch me. I refused to make Dean's happiness wane, so I was oddly reluctant to defy him.

I tried my best to stay concentrated on the ball. I was lined up pretty well for the 4 ball again, so I'd give that one more shot.

"God, why is slutty Sam here? Do we really have to deal with his stink of desperation?"

"I bet if we get too close his stink will stick to us. It's probably contagious."

My eyes dulled. The voices were coming from behind me, far enough that they weren't talking to me but close enough that they knew I could hear them.

Dean's expression was dark and malevolent, and it was clear he had heard it, too. I swallowed, stupidly hoping I could swallow my own embarrassment.

I did my best to stay focused. This was finally a bonding moment for me and Dean, and I didn't want to mess it up.

Right before I hit the cue ball I felt something squeeze tight onto my ass. I yelped, hitting the cue ball on the underside and making it hop.

I turned to see Luther, one of my clients. He was on the chubbier side, with two or three chins that wiggled around during sex. I was surprised he was willing to greet me so publicly, but I guess the alcohol could be helping with his poor judgment.

He had a beer bottle in hand, the other on my ass, and his yellow teeth were staring at me from behind a sly grin.

That mouth has kissed me before. Most clients are fuck then you're finished, but this one…no. He kisses like we're lovers but fucks me like I'm trash. And when we kiss, I can almost _feel _the bacteria transferring from his mouth to mine.

The grin was wide and revolting. "Hi, Sammy…" He closed the gap between us, and I watched his eyes close as he leaned toward me, lips puckered. I could feel the inevitable grimace on my face, and I braced myself for the worst.

Before I knew it Dean appeared between us. He shoved Luther back, and the man stumbled a few times before catching himself. Dean growled. "You got a problem, fucker?"

Even alcohol-induced, Luther could see the malice dripping from Dean's expression. Luther glanced at me, back to Dean, then just shook his head, the chins flapping wildly.

"Y'all…like…a couple?"

Luther never was an articulate man. Dean had an evil grin on his face, not at all like the beautiful smile I had come to admire, and he took a few steps forward until he was mere inches away from the man. There was a stark contrast in height, and Dean took full advantage, towering over him.

"No. Does it fucking _matter?"_

Luther cowered away, shaking his head wildly.

Dean nudged his head. "Go."

Before Luther could turn, Dean grabbed his arm, squeezing tightly. "Oh, one more thing." Dean was leaning forward, and I could tell Luther was starting to hyperventilate.

Dean spoke quietly but scarily, and I had to strain my ears to hear. "His name's Sam."

Chills ran down my back, and I could only imagine the terror that ran through Luther right now. Luther nodded wildly and, as soon as Dean let go of him, he moved faster than he probably ever had in his life. The fat in his belly jiggled, and he narrowly avoided people as he sprinted to the exit and out the door.

Dean successfully made a grown man probably piss himself, but he looked neither relieved nor impressed with himself.

Dean turned to me. "Why didn't you do anything?"

I felt like a deer in headlights. Should I have done something? Maybe Dean didn't like public displays of affection. "I'm sorry. Next time I'll take us to a more private place before—."

"_No," _Dean almost shouted, and I was startled into silence.

He immediately stopped, taking deep breaths to calm himself. He held his hands up in placating manner, and started again. "That's not what I'm saying, Sammy. I'm _saying _you shouldn't let people like him do whatever they want to you. You deserve better."

I blinked. "But…But I'm a prostitute."

Dean flailed his hands about. "But did he _pay? _Did he have the _right _to touch you?" I knew Dean didn't like my occupation, but I appreciated how that wasn't his rebuttal.

I sighed quietly. "I don't know." I looked away, absently scratching my arm. "I guess it's just… something I'm used to."

Dean's expression softened, and he took a step closer to me. Somehow the scratching had turned into scraping across my flesh, and Dean put his hand over my arm, stopping it. He rested his other hand in the crook of my neck, and he bent down a little until we were at eye-level. "It's okay, Sammy. It's okay."

I nodded, not thoroughly convinced but my heart still singing at Dean's words. He was so forgiving, so generous. How had I lived my life without him?

I heard a laugh. "What a bunch of queers."

"Poor guy. Has to deal with slutty Sam. I'd take my chances and run for it."

"Wait, Sam the slutbag is here? Why didn't anyone tell me?!"

I angled my gaze downward. I didn't have the courage or the will to risk meeting any of their gazes. They were all right, after all. I was disgusting, dirty to my very core. I didn't deserve Dean.

Dean was already in motion, moving to confront them, and I caught him with a soft hand to his arm. "Please…" I met his gaze for a split second before looking back down. "Let's just go home."

I could feel Dean's gaze piercing into my soul, and it seemed like it took all his effort not to pull away from me. He wanted vengeance. To this day I didn't understand it, but it was clear Dean _did _care for me. He cared less like a friend and more like an over-protective brother. If my heart could smile it would…because of him.

His fatal intent was strong, and there was ever-so-slight resistance toward my hand. But finally the muscles I held under my hand relaxed, and Dean spoke. "Yeah…okay." He didn't sound pleased, but I appreciated him for accepting my request.

He pushed my hand off his arm and then took it in his hand. I never realized how warm Dean's hands were, and he briskly led me away from the cruel jeers.

We reached the exit fast enough, and Dean threw the door open, storming out with me in tow.

He was clearly still upset, and I couldn't think of an acceptable way to console him. Maybe I should just leave him alone for now? I could be a silent companion by his side until his inner turmoil dies down.

I looked up. The sky was the beautiful pink-orange tint of a sunset.

We were quiet as we walked back to the motel. Thankfully the streets were empty, and nobody was present to witness Dean's hand still engulfing mine.

With the brisk pace Dean had set for us, it wasn't long until we reached the motel parking lot. I could see a familiar figure standing by a door, and initially I stupidly thought it was John.

But John was tall and muscular, built similar to Dean. The man that was there now was chubby, a thick belly hanging over the waistline of his jeans. I gasped.

Harry.

I released myself from Dean's grip and hurled myself behind the nearest vehicle.

Dean jerked out of his daze, eyes bug-eyed as he saw me crouching out of sight.

"What the fuck?"

"_Harry_," I said, nodding my head in the direction of the motel.

Dean looked and his mouth hung open. Harry was banging on my apartment door shouting my name again. Either his cognitive facilities were completely gone or he was seriously that hard-up. I haven't been there for weeks; what made him think I would suddenly show up now?

Dean was still watching intently, almost like he was noticing something. I peeked from above this bright green car, curious to see what he was seeing.

The blinds from the inside of our window flickered. I almost gasped. That must be John. Did he notice us?

Dean straightened his posture. "Dad's going to distract Harry. Be ready."

John opened the motel room door and talked to Harry. He might have been telling him to lower his voice, that he was being insincere to his tenants. I didn't know, but soon Harry huffed and stomped away back into his own room. The blinds to his own small window were shut, and Dean and I quickly closed the distance between us and John, throwing ourselves into the motel room.

While Dean was not at all out of breath, I was nearly wheezing. Gods, I hated running.

John slammed the door behind us. "Dean, where were you two? You didn't even leave a note." His voice was stern and displeased.

Damn. John seemed just as protective as Dean.

"Sorry, Dad. I took Sammy to shoot some pool and I wasn't thinking."

John seemed surprised and, while it looked like he wanted to complain more, he chose not to. He also seemed to notice Dean's abnormal mood, his gaze lingering on his facial expressions. I could only imagine what he saw.

Suddenly I felt stifled. With the events at the bar and almost stumbling into Harry, I wanted to be alone for a little bit. "Uh," I said incoherently. "I'm going to take a shower now."

Dean went to sit on our bed, his back leaned against the wall. He didn't seem to hear me. John nodded to me. "Alright, son."

My cheeks flushed at the name, and I swiftly disappeared behind the door.

XxXxXxXxX

**Dean's POV**

I've always liked sex. I liked the feeling of control, the noises my girl made as she moaned for more. I liked the feeling of going in deeper. I liked her legs wrapped around my waist, clutching me for dear life. I liked when I did her from behind, her fists in the sheets as she climaxed.

All of these feelings I've had…they could compare so easily to the feelings Sam's clients have had. They liked driving into him, dominating his body. They liked making him feel weak. They liked owning him.

Everything I've done up until I met Sam feels blasphemous now. Yeah, I knew I wasn't the same as those clients. I only had sex with women that consented, and I never bought sex from a prostitute. But still, I got to have _fun _when I had sex.

Sam…he didn't have that privilege. He started selling himself when he was thirteen. He lost his family when he was young, and he was forced to survive alone. He did horrible things just to get food on his plate and somewhere to sleep.

He probably thought the only thing he was good for was sex. He thought that the townspeople either hated him or loved him for his occupation, and that's all there was left for him. Those who loved him sought him out. Those who hated him scorned and shunned his very existence.

They didn't understand…they didn't understand what he's been through.

I rested my hand over my eyes. Fuck. Neither did I.

A hunter's life brought a lot of burdens. You felt regret when a person fell victim to a monster you didn't kill fast enough. Their death tugs on your heart and screams, "It's _your _fault. _You _killed them." But you move on. You tried your best; you realize there was nothing you could have done better or faster. Those victims held small roles in your life. You knew them what, a day? A week? Not at all? You didn't form any special bonds with them. Their death was sad but easily forgotten.

Sam's regrets hung over his head every day. He had more scars on his body than even the most daring and audacious hunter. He looked in the mirror and saw a monster. He thought _he _was the monster, and everyone in this fucking town just added to that conviction.

Sometimes…I truly hated this world.

I could feel the movement of sheets as John sat on Sam and me's bed. There was a moment of silence, and then he asked, "…You wanna explain to me what's going on?"

How could I begin? How could I explain how Sam was humiliated in the one place people should be too drunk to care? How did other people treat him? Did _anyone _show him respect? What about Greg? Where has he been these past few weeks?

"Sam is the best person I know, will probably ever know, but he's treated the worst." I looked to John. "Why?"

John looked into my eyes, and I knew what he saw. Anger. Frustration. Hatred.

I have never felt so much hatred before, but I've also never felt this much love. My need to protect Sammy was fierce, more fierce than I think even I was consciously aware of.

I was thoroughly convinced I'd die for him.

John sighed, scratching his head. "That kid's been through a lot. It doesn't mean he did anything wrong, and it doesn't mean he deserved it." John shook his head, at a loss. "That's just…the way it is. Life isn't fair to everyone."

I looked away. I understood that. Life wasn't fair. Everyone has their burdens, and everyone has things in their life they wished they didn't have to tolerate. Some have ill family members they have to take care of. Some have dead-end jobs. Some have too many kids and too little income.

None of those unfair situations were like Sam's.

What Sam has endured goes past any level of unfair; it's just fucking _cruel. _

"Sam…Sam had told me he didn't want to go. He told me no, but I kept…insisting." I felt tears well up, and I put a hand to my face. How many people have ignored Sam when he told them "no?" How many people have forced themselves on him, and all the while he just kept screaming "no," "stop?" How many times did you have to say it to make the other person finally stop?

Why didn't I stop?

"A-At the bar, there was a guy who…who touched Sam. He tried to kiss him, and Sam didn't do anything to stop it." John put his head in his hands, teeth grit. "And there were…there were these guys that just kept…talking shit about him." My eyes burned and my hands shook, and I mentally told myself to man the fuck up. Sam was the one that had to _deal _with it. If he could handle it, then I could handle merely talking about it.

"When I heard what those guys were saying…" I wiped a hand over my face. "Fuck, I almost lost it."

If Sam hadn't been there as my own steady conscious there would probably have been bodies to clean up in that bar.

And I'd wanted to kill them _so _bad. After all these years, my ability and unconscious destruction of supernatural monsters was impeccable. I didn't care if I killed them. I didn't care if their blood was on my hands. But I wanted so badly to kill a _human?_

How fucked up was I?

John put a strong hand on my leg, squeezing. "Son, I know that had to be difficult, but not everyone is like that. We just have to distinguish the good from the bad."

The water from the showerhead turned off in the bathroom. He'd been in there for longer than usual, but I also knew he didn't use any of the hot water. No matter how many times I told him to.

John leaned in to whisper one last thing. "Just remember who it is you want to protect. If you kill someone, you can't protect Sam from inside a jail cell."

A valid point, and certainly one to keep in mind. I nodded.

I wiped my face again, slapping my cheeks a few times.

Time to be strong for Sammy.

XxXxXxXxXxX

I fell asleep in the shower.

I'd dreamt I was falling. There was nothing but a dark abyss and a shaded black figure. The stature of the person was familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it.

I just kept falling, and all the while I could feel a large pair of eyes watch me. They never left me, and all they did was curiously observe as I fell in a never-ending space.

After what felt like forever, the figure became more detailed as his surroundings became more obscure. Erratic black and gray splotches bordered him, and he seemed ethereal and ghostly.

My heart dropped to my stomach, and I watched as the man watching me became clear. The tall height, muscular figure, sunken eyes.

Greg.

He opened his mouth, and replaced with white teeth were dark fangs.

"_Traitor,"_ the guttural voice spoke.

My eyes widened, and I shook my head in denial. "N-No…I didn't mean to."

"_Traitor."_

_XxXxX_

I jerked awake, the spray of the cold water hitting my chest. I was sitting in the small bathtub, my back against the wall and my legs splayed in front of me.

I wiped at my face, rubbing until it burned.

For so long I've wanted to see Greg again, but I never wanted to see him like…that. I knew it'd be difficult for him to forgive me, but I had to try. Surely he wouldn't react with as much malice as I witnessed in that horrible nightmare.

I turned the water off, finally leaving the bathtub. It was no longer a sanctuary. It was a dark place that reminded me of the cruelty of my mind.

I grabbed a towel hanging on the rusting rack, tousling my hair then drying my body.

I turned unintentionally toward the mirror. I glanced at all the scars scattered across my body. Every limb and region of my body was marred in some way. How were clients even attracted to me when they saw me like this?

I was hideous.

I looked around to realize I didn't bring a change of clothes. I wrapped the towel around my waist, mentally preparing myself. Was Dean still pondering the events at the bar? Should I be worried? Did he update John on everything or decide it should stay between us?

I took a deep breath before reaching for the knob. I opened the door to see each of the men on their perspective beds, Dean lying down and John sitting up.

"Hey Sammy," Dean said lightly as he idly flicked through TV channels with the remote. He acknowledged my presence with words but didn't look in my direction. I found this oddly comforting.

"Hey," I returned with a small smile. John gave me a nod and a smile, and my heart fluttered. It was rare to receive affection from him.

I contemplated dressing into something other than a flimsy towel, but I was so exhausted for some reason. I plopped onto the bed beside Dean, stomach first. I'd change into something later.

"What time is it?" I asked, my voice muffled from the sheets.

Dean responded. "Almost eight. You sleepy?"

Wow, it felt like midnight. I internally groaned. If it'd been midnight I'd have more of an excuse to sleep. "Oddly, yes."

The beep of the microwave went off. I hadn't even realized it was being used. I heard John stand from his bed and a few moments later I could feel his shadow against my eyes.

I turned to see him offering both Dean and I burgers. "Dinner."

Dean sat up eagerly. "Sweet, thanks. I'm starving."

I flipped onto my back and accepted the food. "Thank you." My stomach hadn't even realized I hadn't eaten. A few weeks ago it hadn't been atypical for me to skip meals but, now that food was in front of me, I couldn't _not _eat this.

John nodded and took his own burger back to his bed.

Paper towels were used as plates, and I set mine down on the sheets as I got in a more comfortable position.

As I ate, I pondered more about my dream. I was starting to convince myself that seeing Greg was the only way to free myself from this guilt. Not only that, but I ached to see him again. It's been too long. He used to be such a strong crutch for me and, while I have grown away from that, I still yearned to see him.

But how to meet him? Going directly to the Cunningham's house didn't work; I've tried that numerous times in the past. The only way that ever successfully led me to Greg was…

Daryl.

I took a bite and swallowed. The only reason to visit a client would be to get paid by the client. Could I convince Dean and John to let me do this job? If I could just have Daryl as my _one _client, just long enough for me to see Greg, make sure he's okay, then explain my situation, everything would work out…right?

I was skeptical, but I also knew I could be persistent. Dean and John were good people. They may want to protect me from prostitution, but they also knew how important Greg was to me. Surely that would work in my favor.

It was obviously easier said than done. Twenty minutes passed and I hadn't said one word. John just left to take a shower, and Dean and I were left alone on the bed. Dean had finished with his shower and changed into nothing but a pair of comfortable-looking sweatpants.

He slopped himself onto the bed, free-falling into my side. His still damp hair tickled my cheek, and I slapped it away before a giggle escaped.

I pushed him backwards off of me, and he quickly wrapped his arms around my torso, taking me down with him.

I huffed, grunting at the manhandling as I landed on a pillow. "Jerk."

Dean chuckled. "Bitch."

The way I landed was actually fairly comfy, though, and I couldn't bring myself to move. Dean was lying on his side facing me.

My eyes were closed, and I could vaguely feel Dean watching me.

After a moment, Dean spoke. "I'm sorry about what happened at the bar."

I didn't outwardly respond. His voice was drenched with sadness, and he was taking this way more personally than he should've been. Barely anything even _happened. _People talked about me while I was in earshot all the time. And of course Dean knew people like Luther existed, so it's not like that was anything new.

There was no need to feel this guilty.

I shook my head. "You're ridiculous. There's no need to apologize."

"There _is," _he growled.

This time I did open my eyes, and I turned to see Dean's pain-ridden expression.

"I…I…" He put a hand over his face, and booming alarms went off in my head. I flipped to my side and put my hand to his shoulder, squeezing it. What was happening? Why was he reacting this way?

"I made you go. I didn't listen to you. Why didn't I listen to you?" He wiped his hand through his hair and took a deep breath, clearly trying to calm himself.

I was so confused. "What are you talking about? I had fun, Dean." I slapped him lightly. "We should do it again sometime."

Dean shook his head, refusing to meet my gaze. "Fuck."

"What is going on? Dean, talk to me…"

"I…I'm sorry. It's nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Dean, please…

"Forget it," he said forcefully. He took a deep breath. "I just…please. Just accept my apology."

Dean brought up something he realized he wasn't ready to talk about, and now he's closed up. I could sympathize with his feelings. I didn't _understand _them, but this was obviously something he felt strongly about. All I could do was respect his wishes.

"Dean." My voice rang with solemnity, and he turned to meet my gaze. "I accept your apology."

His eyes glistened, and he abruptly looked away. I still didn't understand, but I also knew not to ask.

"Thanks, Sammy."

A few moments later and the glisten was already gone, but it was not something I would forget.

A few moments after that and it felt like the moment was gone. Dean flipped through TV channels, and I was just lying on the bed.

Albeit, I felt a bit awkward. Was Dean embarrassed now? Did he regret ever bringing it up?

Though…I had something I wanted to bring up, too. It was very likely our conversation wouldn't go as well as this last one's…

XxXxXxXxX

John left the shower to be immediately bombarded by Dean's voice.

"No Sammy, absolutely not_!"_

"Dean, _please—_."

"No," he snapped, pacing across the room. He stopped to look at me. "Make that _fuck _no."

I was going to retort but then shut my mouth. I understood his reluctance. This new conversation was abrupt, and bringing it up after the bar incident was not the most ideal timing. Only now did I realize I got too greedy.

"You don't understand." I was glad when Dean didn't interrupt me, and I looked down at my hands. "The only way I can see Greg now is through Daryl."

I watched through my peripheral as that sunk in. John was still at the bathroom door, befuddled and silent as he soaked everything in. Dean was standing still, nearly frozen in time.

"Did…did something happen between you and Greg?"

I clenched my hands into fists and bit hard on my bottom lip. "Yeah, he…he…" I squeezed my eyes tight. "He hates me."

Stunned silence was their response.

After a few moments, Dean became reanimated, and he went to sit beside me on the edge of the bed, face earnest. "No, Sammy. The two of you may have a misunderstanding, but Greg couldn't hate you." Dean put his hand on my shoulder. "I've seen Greg with you. His eyes follow you; he's always making sure you're safe."

I couldn't do anything but shake my head. That was two years ago, when I was still working at The Ramrod and he was my amazing co-worker and friend. My family.

But he stopped being my family when I took a family member of his.

It was only rightful retribution, though. If Greg and I's positions were switched, it's very possible I would've reacted in the same manner.

I wasn't ready to confess to the Vesters yet. I knew they didn't hate me, and I knew they actually, genuinely cared about me. But, I wasn't ready to see the looks on their faces when they learned what I'd done. Would they see me differently? Would they condemn me? Would they _hate _me?

This time I turned my regards to both Dean and John, and I portrayed the most imploring, desperate gaze I knew how. "Please…I want to see Greg. I _have _to see Greg. Daryl will be my only client. When I'm done with Greg, I'll be done with Daryl."

My words made Greg sound disposable. As if, after his use has been extracted, he can be thrown away like trash, never to be given a second thought.

My view on it was the opposite, though. When I'm done with Greg will be the day, hopefully, that Greg will be free from me, as well. The burden of pain will be lifted off his shoulders and he can finally, finally, learn to love again.

Love people other than me, but that was irrelevant. Now was not the time to get jealous.

Dean didn't react as vehemently and swiftly as he had the first time. He actually sat down and weighed the options. I could tell he didn't like it, but I could also tell his resolve was slipping.

John determined his role as observer was over, and he walked to me, sitting beside me on the bed. "Sam, this is your life. We know how much Greg means to you." He clapped me on the shoulder with a sad smile. "Always try to live without regrets."

It felt like he meant for those words to hang ambiguously. It could go for both sides of the argument. Would I regret whoring myself out again to see Greg, or would I hate myself even more if I never even tried?

I nodded, smiling in return. "I will. Thank you. I…" I swallowed hesitantly but spoke confidently. "I definitely want to see Greg."

Dean made a sad noise from behind me, and I turned to face him. He looked exhausted, tired to his very core. "I understand now. I understand your need to do this." My eyes watered. He was allowing me what I wanted, but his eyes were still…still so sad.

Dean swallowed audibly, like he was swallowing a sob. "I won't stop you, Sammy."

But his eyes were suddenly dark, and I gulped. It looked like flames were literally about to pop out of his eye sockets.

His gaze never left me. "But there will be a few conditions…"

I gulped again.

That didn't sound promising.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Hope you enjoyed! xD The conditions should be overall amusing, I think. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Enjjoooyyyyy**

**XxXxXxXxX**

I vaulted a fence, landing quietly on my feet. I had been to Daryl's house before, so it was only a matter of retracing my steps and arriving when it was acceptably dark outside.

Dean and John had been more than generous in offering their help, but I refused it. I didn't need it, and I didn't want them to know where Daryl lived. I didn't want to allow them a mental image for their dark thoughts.

No one was in the vicinity, and all the neighboring houses were lights out and sleeping soundly. I snuck across the street, feeling the odd weight in my pocket jingle as I moved.

Dean's first condition: always have my cell phone with me. Prior to the Vesters, I'd never owned one, but John went and bought me a silver flip phone. Dean had inputted both his and John's numbers and put them on speed dial. It was a foreign object for me, but I honestly liked the idea of being able to access them so quickly.

I walked up to the front porch, marveling in its ornate beauty. Whether it's true definition was house or _fucking mansion, _I didn't know_. _

I pondered. It was pretty iffy, but I'd edge toward mansion.

I rang the doorbell, and a loud cursing erupted from inside the house…mansion…building.

The distinct sound of Daryl came closer and closer to the entrance, and I was started to have second thoughts on this whole escapade.

"What the _fuck _do you want this lat—" The door swung upon to reveal an infuriated Daryl. His facial features transformed at the sight of me, though, and suddenly the man had his arm wrapped tightly around me, swinging me side-to-side.

"Sammy, how great it is to see you again!" His eyes were lit up like fireworks and he quickly manhandled me into the foyer, slamming the door behind me.

He quickly settled me on his lap on the nearest available chair, and never once turned his gaze from me. "So what brings you here, Sam?" His grin turned sly. "Wanna continue that fun we had earlier?"

I nodded, but then immediately winced. I hated myself; I didn't want to seem desperate. My clients were desperate, the people that wanted to fuck me were desperate, but _I _was not. That's how it was supposed to be.

But now that he was in front of me I realized one of the biggest obstacles I had to overcome was right here. If I could get Daryl to continue what we had then, eventually, I'd run into Greg again.

I cleared my throat, butterflies tearing through my stomach and ripping my innards to shreds. But this had to be done. I was fine. This was fine.

"Yes."

XxXxXxX

I'd gotten back home a few minutes ago. I twiddled with my fingers awkwardly, wishing I could melt into the sheets beneath me.

Dean and John stood before me, seemingly staring into my soul as I sat at the edge of the bed.

My shirt was taken off, not because I had any injuries on my chest or stomach, but because they wanted to ensure they saw the full extent of the damage.

Dean's second condition: _never _hide my injuries from them.

As it turned out, Daryl was more domineering than that first time we'd fucked in an alley. It's not that he intentionally hurt me, or _wanted _to hurt me, but that's just how he was. That's how he liked it.

Or so I assumed.

The reason I was shirtless? When I'd made it back to the motel room after fucking with Daryl, the first thing Dean had seen when he opened the door was my injury.

It was embarrassing, really. I hated when they saw me like this.

I had a bite mark on the crook of my neck, red and oozing blood. Dean touched it lightly, like he was handling a baby bird. His eyes were dulled and frozen over. His mouth was a thin, grim line.

It had been too long since I'd seen that beautiful smile of his. I've done so much wrong lately.

"Sammy…" Dean said, his voice strained. It seemed like that was the only thing he could say. What _could _he say to this?

Compared to previous injuries, though, this was child's play.

The bite mark wasn't a hickey. Daryl had actually broken flesh, and John went to get the first aid kid. I didn't know what the contents entailed, but he pulled out a bottle of something and dabbed that something onto a cotton ball.

"You're going to feel a sting," he said before immediately placing it on my neck. It was cold, and he sure wasn't lying about the sting.

After that he pulled out some gauze. The wound was in an odd location, but he managed to bandage it and fully cover the bite.

I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel any sense of déjà vu. Years ago, it was Greg that would do this for me. He would discover I was hurt, and then put me back together. Now, it was the Vesters.

When would I finally learn to take care of myself?

Dean licked his lips, trying again. "Sammy…How, How could you let him do this to you?"

I sat still for a moment, pondered it, then shrugged. This kind of thing used to happen all the time. Getting bitten was the _least _of my worries. Before Dean and John, this wasn't at all a big deal.

"I mean….he _paid _for me. He can do whatever he wants."

I used to have boundaries, phobias but, for better or for worse, they are gone now.

Dean seemed to hate that answer more than anything. He looked physically ill, but also quite ready to punch something.

"Do you truly have such little respect for yourself? Is you're self-worth _so _damaged that you don't care if someone _hurts you?" _His hands were fisted into my shoulders, his nails digging into my skin and another crescent-shaped scar located there. His face was aligned with mine, and he didn't bother hiding his emotions. He made them all so clear in expression, and they truly made me want to cry.

Because, below all the sadness, all the pain, Dean felt pity for me. He felt sorry for me.

I guess I felt sorry for myself, too. If I could've been better, smarter, I probably would've found a way to make a better living.

I couldn't hold his gaze for long, and soon I was looking down at my feet, ashamed. "I-I'm sorry." And that's all I knew I could say. I couldn't counter Dean's accusation because his accusation was true. I held no respect for myself. If I died, the world would be a better place. My life held no true purpose.

The hands that clung tight to my shoulders were now wrapped tightly around my body. They were so tight I almost couldn't breathe, but I never wanted him to let go. His embrace was so warm. After everything, he still cared for me. He wanted me to stick up for myself because he didn't like seeing me hurt.

XxXxXxX

Dean's third, and last, condition: I was not allowed to be with Daryl for more than two consecutive nights per week.

I had agreed to that much too easily. I wanted to see Greg, I did, but the thought of being away from the Vesters for a long period of time seemed to ignite a fierce loneliness through my entire body. I didn't understand why, but the mere thought of being without the Vesters made life seem pitiful and unnecessary.

So Daryl and I met bi-weekly. I replaced Sunday Harry day with Daryl, and each Saturday and Sunday (that was supposed to be a holy day, right? Hehe…) I met at his place and we fucked all day and all night. Daryl didn't seem to mind me coming so publicly to his place during the day, and I didn't bring it up.

But…where Daryl was free from worry, the Vesters were anything but. Even though they agreed I could have just the one client, and even though the conditions were firmly in place, they were still having trouble accepting my ways. I understood their troubles, I truly did, but _this _was the only way I knew how to see Greg. Going directly to his house has gotten me nowhere, and I didn't know where he worked or what he did with his time.

Maybe I could've tried harder to find a better alternative, but I never admitted to being smart, or patient for that matter. There were dark and dirty ways to get what you wanted, and that's essentially all I knew how to do.

I was starting to grow more accustomed to the pink skirt (thank God I was rarely expected to wear the bra) and, after two weeks of meeting up at his place, I'd become less embarrassed, and more open about my position in the relationship.

Currently, I was at Daryl's house, wandering into the foyer by the front entrance to scoop up a magazine sitting idly on the table. It was a car magazine, and I immediately realized this was not going to be something I'd enjoy reading.

So instead I just looked at all the pictures, flipping through the contents and feeling envious when I saw all the nice-looking ones that were priced forever out of my range.

Dean would enjoy this type of magazine, though. He seemed to almost venerate their old Chevy Impala, and was actually quite good with fixing it up. It was fun to watch him. I also handed him the proper tools when asked (though he had to ask for it by description, not name. Stuff like that was hardly my forte).

A loud knock on the door suddenly sounded, and I gasped, fumbling the magazine in my hands and ultimately dropping it to the floor. I ignored it, stumbling to hurry out of sight. One of the things Daryl had added to my costume, though, were tall stiletto heels, and I tripped, knocking my elbow on the table as I free-falled. I hit the floor with a grunt, landing ungracefully on my already-injured stomach.

Something I've noticed over the weeks was Daryl's exponentially increasing possessiveness. My last session with him involved him putting me over the arm of a wooden chair and thrusting the fuck out of me. I now had an odd, horizontal bruise formed across the length of my stomach.

Dean was _not _pleased when he saw it.

There was another impatient knock, and Daryl strode into the room I was in, which was directly connected to the front entrance of the large house.

Daryl was too slow, though, and the visitor opened the door himself, and in the darkness revealed

Greg, one hand on the doorknob with another holding a small plastic bag. I stared like a deer in headlights, and Greg did the same, staring at me like he had never in a million years expected to see me here.

For what felt like forever I was in a mindless daze, then Daryl's footsteps lurched me into action. I could only stagger uselessly, and I allowed his sturdy grip to guide me to my feet.

I got to my feet swiftly, preparing to sprint out of the room when Greg's soft, "Sam?" fell from his mouth. I stopped mid-movement, turning to look at him.

His eyes weren't full of the tempestuous rage I had been preparing myself for so long. He looked more melancholy, and his gaze drifted to my injured stomach and bruised cheek (caused when Daryl was drunk and accidentally hit me with the beer bottle). His eyes continued to wander, noting all the scattered scratches and scars on my body. Some old, some new. Bite marks, cigarette burns, rope rashes, whip blisters, finger-shaped bruises…He looked at them all. His gaze reminded me of a man that was precariously standing over a ledge, trying to decide if he should jump.

After a moment, Greg looked back to my eyes.

Daryl put his hands to his hips. "Wait, _this_ is the Sam you always talk about? _My_ Sam?"

Greg's eye twitched at that last sentence. "Daryl."

Daryl blinked, pausing for a moment in confusion. "What?"

Greg was looking at my bruised stomach. "Did you do this to him?" Most of the injuries he saw were scars, old wounds from old clients. But the bruise on my stomach was still blue/black and angry-looking.

Daryl followed his gaze then immediately jumped into defense. "Hell, of course not! He was like that from before, probably from other clients." He huffed, appearing insulted.

I said nothing to agree or negate the comment, awkwardly fidgeting and waiting for this nightmare to be over.

Greg moved across the room, grabbing my wrist and hastily pulling me back outside. He slammed the door shut behind us, turning me to face him.

I shivered from the cool air, and Greg immediately took off his jacket and placed it around my shoulders. As always, it was too big for my lean frame, and I unconsciously huddled into it, missing this warmth.

"Sam, what…" He licked his lips. "What are you doing here?" His dark eyes trailed back to my stomach, and he immediately pointed at it with a vicious finger. "Is what Daryl saying true? Did he do this to you?" he hissed.

I looked up at him, scared at any moment he'll explode. He had a right to, though. What I had made him go through…

Daryl continued, now pointing angrily at my cheek. "And this? Did he do this?"

I touched my fingers to the tenderness of my cheek.

I shook my head. "No, h-he didn't...Daryl…Daryl's nice."

Greg's nostrils flared. "Sam, you don't know Daryl. He…he…" He paused for a long moment, then threw his hands up in the air. "Fuck it. Do what you want."

_Unfortunately, I do know Daryl._

I watched him with stunned eyes as he stomped down the stairs, two steps at a time.

"W-Wait," I called out timidly, surprised he even heard me. He stopped, turning barely enough to look at me.

"I…I-I'm sorry about…before." I licked my lips, scared I was about to break. "C-Can I…explain…please?"

Greg's eyes softened for a moment, like he was dying to hear my next words. Like he would accept any explanation I gave then welcome me with open arms, crushing me to his chest.

It was only for a second though, a small moment in time that was swiftly replaced by raging infernos, his beautiful blue eyes dark with refusal.

He spun away, swiftly marching across the green lawn and turning a corner, out of sight.

"Keep the jacket," he said with a wave, not even looking back.

I moved to follow him, but I could only stumble and trip haphazardly across the pavement. The stiletto heels were tall, too damn tall, and I wouldn't be able to keep up with him. "P-Please…" I was too clumsy, too scared. What more could I do?

Desperate, I reached out a hand, barely brushing against his arm.

It was enough for Greg to react, and he turned and instantly shoved my hand away.

"Don't _touch _me," he said venomously. He turned his back on me once more, and this time I couldn't bring myself to do anything. I was too weak. I couldn't…I couldn't do _anything._

I could feel my knees growing weak as they buckled under me, and I didn't even feel as they landed hard enough to draw blood.

No matter how much it hurt, I perfectly understood his reaction. Greg had had his heart broken, and now he found it hard to trust anyone enough to let them back in.

Especially the one that broke it in the first place.

It hurt to watch him walk away, but maybe if I continue my services with Daryl I'll see him again. I understood this was tough for Greg, but he couldn't just _not _hear my explanation. It was unfair, right?

I went back into the room to see Daryl waiting for me.

Daryl's eyes were a mixture of curiosity and something I couldn't read. "So you're _the _Sam, huh?"

I shivered, wrapping Greg's jacket tighter around me. "Y-Yeah, I guess so."

Daryl absentmindedly scratched his cheek as he plopped into a cushioned sofa. "You do realize how much Greg's gone through, right?"

I looked away, nodding when I realized my voice wouldn't work. I could only imagine in my worst nightmares how hard it must have been; how much betrayal he must have felt; how much hatred he must have for me.

Daryl stayed silent another moment. His gaze was still on me. "Is it true? Did you really cause his mother's death?"

I inhaled abruptly, wishing I could escape from this world, long enough to forget the question, forget the _answer._

"Y-Yeah."

I still had the scars on my back as a reminder. I'd sealed her fate as well as my own.

After several moments, Daryl finally shrugged, patting the sofa between his knees. "Oh well, no need to dwell on it now. Come over here."

I stumbled along to crawl into Daryl's lap, for once _wanting _the comfort of human contact.

We fucked on the sofa, and an hour later we were lying on the floor, both exhausted and panting heavily.

After several minutes of catching my breath and just lying there, something crossed my mind. No matter how hard I tried, Greg wouldn't leave my mind. Now that I had seen him, now that I had _touched _him, just living on the peripherals of his existence wasn't possible anymore.

"U-Um, Daryl…?"

Daryl was caressing my back and shoulders, tracing the scars. "Yes, beautiful?"

I sat up, just enough so we could make eye contact. "Um…is it possible I can c-continue coming over?"

Daryl raised an eyebrow. I could tell he was glad for the request, but also curious as to _why_.

I continued. "I-I want to see Greg again. I want to be able to explain…"

"And you think being around me will make it happen?"

I flushed a bit, but nodded.

Daryl gave a welcoming, ecstatic and slightly sexual smile. "Sure, Sammy, I can make that happen." He squeezed me tighter to him and whispered into my ear. "I'd love to see you as much as possible."

I blushed and nodded. I could make this work…

XxXxXxXxX

It was early Monday morning when I snuck back to the motel room. The sun was just coming up, and I stealthily hid behind a car, ensuring Harry was absent before proceeding.

I quietly knocked on the door with the code John had taught me. I was quiet, but I knew they would hear me.

Not a second later and the door was opening. I had a new minor injury, and I knew that was the first thing Dean saw when he opened the door. His eyes were wide, nose flaring, teeth grit, but…he didn't say anything. He was trying his best not to verbally show his hatred for my decision, and I respected that.

I quickly entered the room, allowing Dean to shut it behind me. John had the same old, thick-as-hell book he had earlier this week opened up on the small table. It was in a language I didn't understand, and I couldn't even imagine why he'd be reading it.

He stopped mid-page flip to look at me. He too didn't say anything about the bite mark on my neck, but I knew he saw it.

I was starting to think the Vesters noticed just about everything.

I plopped onto the bed, trying to ignore the gazes on me. I knew what they saw, and I knew they weren't happy. Hell, if I saw what was on me on _Dean, _I'd be throwing shit across the room in a rage.

So I was glad when the two of them stayed calm. John's book was ignored as he turned to face me in his chair, and Dean sat beside me on the bed.

"Listen, Sammy…" He took a deep breath, and my back straightened instinctively. "I don't want to stop you from doing what you believe is best, but…this…" He lightly petted my cheek, a drip of my blood dribbling onto his finger. "This is not okay."

His words were saturated with emotion, and I felt bad. I strongly regretted that this was an injury I couldn't hide. I wanted to save Dean from this, and if I could I would save Dean from myself.

"I know, I'm sorry." I looked down, allowing my bangs to cover my face.

What was imprinted onto my left cheek were four scratches, each fairly lengthy but not particularly deep.

"How…How did he do something like this?"

Damn. I'd really been hoping he wouldn't ask that, but I also guess I should've known better.

"Uh…" I scratched the back of my head in embarrassment. John was now kneeling before me with the first aid kit, and I used that as a momentary distraction. He began applying the ointment when I continued. "He was doing me from behind. His arm was wrapped around my face…" He was on top of me, and his left arm somehow wrapped around until his hand gripped my right cheek. "When he came, uh, he just kinda…" Gripped, _hard._

The hand on my cheek stopped moving, and John's eyes were emblazoned with darkness. I couldn't see Dean's expression because of my thick hair in the way, but I knew it wouldn't be pleasant.

"What a fucking _ass." _Dean stood now, pacing and entering my line of sight. John lightly continued dabbing the ointment, and I tried not to shy away. It was painfully cold.

Dean's hands were in tight fists as he moved back and forth in the small space. "I mean, who does that guy think he is? Thinks he can just touch you however the fuck he wants?"

I was beginning to realize Dean cursed more when he was angry. It was a good indicator to know when you should tread carefully.

"Dean, I know it's hard to imagine, but…" I shifted, avoiding his gaze. "H-He _did _pay for me." Realistically speaking, he could do anything he wanted." There was so much worse he could've done than place a few scratches on my face.

Granted, I was sensing Daryl's increasing brutality. He wanted to own me, and to him that seemed to mean making his mark on me. If I soon got much worse than a few nail marks, I wouldn't be surprised.

Dean growled with such suddenness that my head whirled in his direction. "I don't like this. I don't fucking like this at _all." _He reminded me of a predator, a fierce lion stalking its prey. A lion was merciless.

Especially when you threatened its young.

Dean's hands were in tight fists, and I was almost convinced he'd crouch into a killer's stance and pounce out the door in search of Daryl.

I was tired of causing Dean anger. I wanted to see his smile again.

I stood from my spot on the bed, leaving John before he finished with the ointment. His eyes questioned me curiously, but he said nothing as I walked away and toward Dean.

Dean was stock-still, and I took advantage of that, swiftly enveloping my arms around Dean's strong torso.

It had been a long time since I'd been either the receiver or giver of a hug but, somehow, this felt appropriate. Dean was sad, and I hated it. I hated it more than anything. I knew it was hard for him to watch me go through this, but I wanted him to understand this was only temporary. I'd see Greg, say what I needed to say, and then promptly return to Dean's side.

From there it was a mystery, but one step at a time.

Dean wrapped his arms around me fiercely, and part of me thought I heard him begin to cry.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Success? Hope you enjoyed!**

**Spoiler: Next chapter is the last chapter we see Daryl.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Enjoy!**

**XxXxXxXxX**

It was two weeks later when Greg showed up at Daryl's again. Daryl and I were doing it in his king-sized bed at the time. Everything was so blurry, everything was so fucked up that I didn't hear as the door opened and Greg's footsteps grew louder with each passing step.

The past two weeks had been brutal for me. I promised the Vesters I would keep only Daryl as my client, and with each fucking it got harder and rougher. It felt like he was so possessive he physically couldn't get enough of me, and each thrust involved his entire length being shoved in as _hard _as he could.

Last session he had wrapped his hand around my neck, yelling at me to scream his name as he came. I did as I was told, and I now had dark finger-shaped bruises along the skin of my neck.

Dean and John didn't react well to seeing that particular bruise.

"Ah o-ow, fuck," I couldn't help but gasp out as Daryl bit my nipple _way _too fucking hard. It was oozing blood now, and he stopped biting but continued thrusting, and his grasp on my wrists tightened uncontrollably. He was too overpowering when we had sex. He literally just wanted me as a doll to play dead so he could really fuck me up.

I hissed in pain again. Every ounce of my body was electrified and trembling with painful pleasure. He had placed a cock ring on me maybe an hour ago, and it took everything in me not to moan in infinite desire. This wasn't something I wanted.

But gods, this was something I so so wanted.

He kept lunging into me, and I gasped as he hit my prostate over and over.

Daryl smirked sadistically. "Hehe. Such a slut." A hand grasped my dick, one of the fingers lightly fingering my underside.

I moaned headily and saw nothing but stars. I did everything in my power not to pass out.

Without slowing the rhythm, Daryl leaned forward and kissed tenderly at my neck. Inadvertently, I tilted my neck back for easier access, enjoying the gentleness he was portraying.

But too soon soft sucking and nibbling turned into biting. "Ah, a-_ah," _I cried out as I felt him break skin. Chomping down on my flesh was _not _fucking acceptable.

"…What the fuck?"

Suddenly my heart stopped. That voice…I recognized that voice.

My eyes snapped open and immediately looked across the room to see Greg standing there, the bag he'd been carrying now on the floor. His whole body was trembling and his eyes were wide with an unreadable expression.

Daryl either didn't hear Greg or didn't care, and continued thrusting. His teeth were still gnawing at my neck, but the pain was more subdued at the moment. My primary focus was on Greg, because _what-the-fuck-was-he-doing-here?_

I tapped Daryl's shoulder rapidly, both embarrassed and suddenly _freaking the fuck out_. "Hey, s-stop."

Daryl grunted out, finally removing his teeth from my flesh but never once slowing his rhythm. "I'm paying for you, so you better suck it up or get thrown back on the streets."

If anything, his pace increased, so fast I was literally in pain. What should I do? Greg was here, fucking _here, _and I didn't want him to see anymore of this. This…this was too much. I couldn't allow him to see me like this.

But Greg himself took the initiative. He stepped up to the bed, grabbing Daryl's shoulder and heaving, pulling him off and making him stumble backwards. It wasn't enough to hurt him, but it did stop the thrusting and pull him out of me.

"I think he told you to stop."

I immediately closed my legs and engulfed myself in the sheets lying beside me. I could seriously die of embarrassment right now…

Daryl was panting, and his expression was fierce and deadly. His gaze on Greg never wavered, but neither did Greg's on Daryl.

I watched in silence, stunned and confused. Was I the cause of this tension?

Daryl's voice was low and menacing, and each word was spoken slowly. "I _paid _for Sam while you're just floundering around dreaming of something you can never have. Sam is mine." He paused. "_Got it?"_

I gulped. I didn't want to be the cause of a huge schism between his family. Greg had lost his mother, because of _me, _and I didn't want to make him lose anyone else.

I leaned forward, putting my arm in front of Daryl. It probably wasn't doing much, but it at least made _me _feel better. "Listen, this was my fault. I'm the one that complained, and I was in the wrong. I'm sorry."

Greg hissed, taking a strong step forward. "You did _nothing _wrong—."

Apparently that wasn't what Daryl wanted to hear, and he shoved me out of the way, tossing me off the bed. I hit the ground with an "oof," and my penis jolted in sweet agony. Fuck, just kill me.

Greg's eyes were smoldering with a brilliant, dark rage I had never seen before. There was also a sparkle of something else, something I didn't fully understand. He was staring at Daryl with a gaze that made me shiver in fright, and it wasn't even _directed _at me.

Thank gods for that.

Daryl got to his feet on the opposite side of the bed. Both standing, it was clear Greg was taller and more built. It comforted me to know Greg would probably win in a fight, but that sure as hell didn't mean I wanted them to fight.

It seemed like Daryl was starting to get some pretty ominous vibes, as well, and I quickly moved to intersect them.

But suddenly my own body halted me, and I involuntarily squeaked in pain. My hand immediately went to my lower back, but I knew in actuality it was my hole that hurt. With each session, Daryl was getting more possessed with hunger and more consumedin fucking me into oblivion. It was violent, borderline fucking evil, and it was really taking its toll on my body.

"Sam…?" I heard Greg ask. I could hear his footsteps coming toward me, and I flinched. Don't pay attention to me, pay attention to _Daryl._

And if only I'd said it out loud, because that would've been a hell of a lot more useful.

As it was, though, I in no way warned Greg of my intuition, and Daryl came up from behind and hurdled him to the ground.

"No, stop it!" I all but screamed as I crawled my way toward Greg. Why was I so fucking _weak?_

Greg heaved, and I visibly watched his muscles bulge as they heaved Daryl off him, landing him onto his side. Daryl got to his knees and threw a punch, Greg barely dodging as he threw himself instead.

"Please stop, _stop," _I pleaded. Why was no one listening to me? They were family, they were _blood_. How could they do this to each other?

Watching this made physically ill. This was all myfault. I had pitted them against each other and now they were facing the consequences.

The fight didn't last long. Daryl was huge, but compared to Greg he was still smaller, weaker and, realistically speaking, probably pretty exhausted from the copious amounts of sex.

Greg stood victorious, his only injury a split lip and barely-there bruise on his arm. Daryl was unconscious beside him. I knew he wasn't severely injured, but it was still unnerving to see him so still.

My lower lip quivered as I watched Greg watch me. The tempestuous rage in his eyes was gone. He stood before me, his eyes so beautiful, so full of love and protection and something I couldn't quite identify. It had been so long since I'd see his beautiful eyes…

But I knew better, this was only temporary. But I still couldn't help the overflow of emotion. I could feel tears swelling up in my own eyes, and I immediately broke eye contact, brushing an arm across my face.

"Are you okay, Sammy?"

I nodded without speaking, looking away. Greg was too pure, too beautiful for me to look at. My mere gaze would taint him.

I could sense as Greg knelt down beside me, his hand reaching out toward my neck. His fingers grazed the blood on my neck, and I flinched inherently. I was evil, corrupt. He shouldn't be touching me.

"We need to patch this up," he said, his voice simmering with barely restrained wrath. He also noticed the oozing blood from my nipple and the dark red marks on my wrists.

For the first time in my entire life, I wanted Greg to go away. His concern seemed so damn _genuine, _but I knew it wouldn't be long before he left me again. I caused his mother's death, he hated me, he sought vengeance against me, of _course he'd leave me._

Greg's fingers began to play with strands of my hair. I could tell he was wanting a response from me. I'd been so quiet, but I just couldn't help it. Greg shouldn't be here trying to sooth me; he should be _hating me. _I was the horrible demon that wreaked havoc on the undeserving. I was the snake in the garden, the devil that sinned against God, the bad that overcame the good. God, I was the fucking devil.

A finger brushed against my cheek. "Sam? Sam, talk to m—."

"I'm sorry." I choked on a sob.

He stopped, both in his words and his movement.

Tears were falling down my face but I ignored them. "I'm sorry about your mother. I'm sorry I couldn't save her. I-I tried so hard, I _swear to God _I tried_. _The doctor was so expensive; I knew you couldn't afford it. I tried other arrangements, and at some point I offered him m-my body. I…I…" Another sob wracked through my very core. It was all my fault. My sole purpose was to pleasure, but couldn't it also be to _make people happy? _They weren't the same thing, only synonymous, but maybe I should be more useful than just being a fuck toy. I pleasured people I didn't even like, but couldn't make the people I _loved _happy?

It was circumstances like this that just showed me how fucked up I was.

Greg held a hand out, as if trying to grab me and pull me back out of the abyss. "Sam, please, just calm down—."

"I _tried, okay?_ He was disgusted by me. He hadn't even _known _I was a prostitute but I fucked up and I _told him._"

Our small town only had one doctor specialized in the care Greg's mother needed. He was an overtly religious, overtly _fucking crazy _doctor that I'm surprised didn't believe prayer was a better medicine than science.

Unfortunately I'd discovered that too late.

"I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. It's all my fault…It's all my fault…It's all my fault…"

I could feel my body rocking itself, and it was almost soothing. Back and forth, back and forth…

A strong pair of hands suddenly seized my shoulders, shaking me forcibly. It broke me out of my daze, and I looked up to see Greg's piercing gaze staring into mine.

"Sam, _please. _It's okay."

It felt like his eyes were penetrating me, looking into my very soul. It felt nice, like he genuinely cared about me, but it was also horrifying. If he looked deep enough, long enough, would he see all the disgusting parts of me?

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

He shook me again, and my head bobbled back and forth. "_Fucking stop it."_

Greg was breathing loudly, almost fuming. I swallowed. Was he going to hit me? Was he so infuriated that he needed to remove some of this tension?

I should've known better, though. Greg visibly calmed himself, and soon he was leaning toward me. He stopped when he was a mere inch from my face.

For the longest time, I just sat there dumbfounded. Why was he so close? Was he trying to make a point? Was he trying to calm me with this close proximity?

But then it dawned on me.

I could feel my heart pounding out of my chest, and I slowly, so slowly, inched forward. I touched my lips to Greg's, so soft yet I could still feel his warmth emanating from his very being.

I tried to end the kiss quickly, though. I appreciated the gesture more than he could know, but I didn't want him touching me. If only he knew where my lips have been…

But he followed my lips, continuing the kiss for a moment longer. He's never done that before, but it was a good sign to me. At least he didn't think I was disgusting and unworthy to be touched.

Greg was looking at me now with such deep eyes. It was almost scary. I couldn't read his expression. What was he thinking?

"Sam…" Greg gulped, taking a deep breath. "I…I know I've been hard on you. I know I've ignored you for so long. A-All this time, I've been trying to place the blame on someone else, and I'm sorry." He paused again, and his eyes were filled with something like shame, and his mouth was curved in a sad smile. "My grief has made me into a horrible person, hasn't it?"

I immediately shook my head. Greg, a _horrible person? _Just hearing that gave me angry chills.

"No, absolutely not. I…" I bent my head down. "I let you down. I let your mother…" The scars that related to this incident began to ache. The flesh on my back was still mauled, scarred beyond repair. His mother died because of me. I had let his mother down but, if I could have traded my place with hers at that time, I selfishly would've done it.

But that wouldn't have been fair to Greg. Greg was such an amazing person. He deserved the best.

Unfortunately, I could only give him the worst.

Greg turned around, ensuring Daryl was still knocked out and unconscious. Then he turned back to me, looking down at my body. His cheeks were suddenly bright red, and I looked down to follow his gaze.

The cock ring was still in place, and I gasped in shame, quickly placing my hands over my body. Throughout my life, Greg has seen me in every horrible light possible but, it felt different now. I felt too vulnerable; I didn't like his gaze.

"Sam, we've gotta take that…ring off."

I nodded swiftly. My body was splintering under the pressure on my groin. If I took it off _now _it still wouldn't be soon enough.

But my furious craving for release couldn't override the need to _not _release in front of Greg. For a reason I didn't understand, every fragment of my body hated the idea of Greg seeing me perform such a grotesque act.

But it seemed I had no choice. Greg grasped the cock ring and carefully removed it. I tried to slap his hand away but he was too strong. I gasped as he accidentally grazed along my shaft in the process.

He glanced up at me, his facial expression uncertain. "Sam, I'm going to help you."

I shook my head frantically, my hands continuing to try to shove him away. "N-No. _No."_

My refusal went unheard. He wrapped his hand firmly around my cock and pumped. I moaned, every part of my being hypersensitive.

It wasn't long at all before I was cumming, jizz spraying into the air and specks landing on my bare chest. I came down from my high, my previous state of bliss replaced with confusion and hurt.

That did not just happen that did not just happen that did not just happen.

What did this mean for us? How should I interpret this? Was this the Greg from two years ago that would do anything to keep me safe? Even if it meant engaging in acts he found repulsive?

It looked like Greg was going to say something, and I was hanging on his expression. His mouth was open, ready to speak. Fuck, just _say _something. Explain. Explain explain explain.

A scuffling sound came from behind Greg, and Greg closed his mouth, looking behind him.

Daryl's eyelids squeezed then relaxed. His hand twitched. He was starting to wake up.

I internally sighed. Damn it to hell.

Greg turned back to me, and anything he was going to say before was gone like it'd never been. His voice was not the emotion-riddled adaptation it was minutes before. It was commanding and firm. "Alright, time to get out of here. Can you stand, Sam?"

Greg was calm and completely at ease. He wasn't at all disturbed by the handjob he had just given me.

I wanted to laugh at myself. I was being so stupid. Of course. There was nothing _wrong _with what he did for me, and it was ridiculous of me to think otherwise. He was just doing his job as overprotective bodyguard. Why had I read it as something else?

I internally laughed at myself. My brain had such a wild imagination.

I was so glad to have Greg back in my life.

I came back to the here-and-now, my mind feeling so much lighter. His question was reasonable and not one I knew the answer to. If I couldn't walk, I would become yet another burden. If I _could_ walk, it would be a painful bitch.

Might as well try, though. I inched my way up, my ass searing in agony. "Fuck," I accidentally let escape and immediately hated myself for. What happened to my old mantra of handling anything that came my way, just man up and not complain?

Greg did hear it, though, and suddenly I was in the air, my legs dangling and gaze displaying a stunned reaction.  
My cheeks flamed red. In my cradled position I couldn't help but realize I was still very, very naked.

I ignored it and grappled onto him like a leech, momentarily concerned I'd free fall. Somehow I had forgotten how strong he was. Greg used to do this to me all the time, and my sudden nostalgia was overwhelming.

Greg seemed to feel that way as well, his eyes never leaving me, but a moan from Daryl abruptly took us both out of our reveries. Greg sprinted past Daryl, not once looking back.

When we arrived in the spacious den I nervously said a small, "Wait." Greg stopped, and I continued, "Um…clothes…"

Greg blinked, looked down, and then turned a bright red I've never seen on him before.

He looked for a second longer, long enough for me to feel uncomfortable, and then exclaimed, "Fuck God Sam sorry." He quickly set me down on the sofa, tossing his jacket on me before escaping into a bedroom.

Despite the situation, I couldn't help but smile. His embarrassed face was cute.

XxXxXxXxXxX

After dressing me in Daryl-sized clothing, Greg carried me outside and asked where I lived. That question immediately brought up the thoughts and visuals of the Vesters, and I was excited to get to see them again.

"Glenn's Inn," I responded. Harry's last name was Glenn, and he thought his rhyme was clever and out-of-this-world awesome.

Greg's said nothing, his mouth a grim line of disdain. I assumed Harry's motel had a pretty poor reputation, but I didn't ask.

Greg marched on the sidewalk with a mission. He may not have cared there were people watching and whispering about us, but I did. I didn't know what Greg had been up to these past two years, but I didn't want his reputation to be thrown away for helping someone like me.

I felt myself cowering into his chest. My mouth said one thing but my body definitely said another. "Greg, I'm fine now, please put me down."

I said that, but I knew I didn't want to leave him. I was finally getting to be in his presence after so long. I'd missed him so much.

Whether Greg sensed my reluctance or not, he made no move to let me down. "I don't care what other people think about me, Sam."

It seems he had read my intentions, after all. I kept my gaze down, whispering, "Well I do…"

I felt Greg's eyes on me, but I ignored it. He seemed persistent, and he still wasn't letting me go, so I wouldn't keep fighting him over this.

The blood from my neck started bleeding through the white shirt I was wearing, leaving a dark patch on the collar. There was also a spot of red where my nipple was.

I held my hand over my nipple area self-consciously. The two of us still weren't alone on the streets, and this was not something I wanted to publicly display.

As we traveled, I remembered something I'd heard a while back. It was only an inkling of a memory, but I distinctly recalled Daryl bringing it up.

"Um…" Greg's gaze was on me again, waiting patiently. I continued. "I, uh…I heard you aren't w-with Ben anymore…? I-Is it…because of me?"

Greg's arms tensed around me, and I hit myself. We're finally on speaking terms and this is what I bring up? I'm such a goddamn ass.

"No, Sam, not at all. I was just having a rough time. It was Ben that broke it off." There was a pause, and I peaked up to look at his expression. It was dark and distant. "He said I'd changed." Greg chuckled suddenly. "He was right."

I looked down. Gods, I was the worst person in the world. I'd done so much wrong toward Greg. Greg used to be so amazing, and I'd changed him for the worst. I made him and his soulmate break up.

Something lightly smacked my forehead, and I glanced up to see Greg's forehead on mine. "Stop sulking." His voice sounded hopeful. "Before, everything had been hard but, somehow, seeing you again…" He smiled. "I think I'm slowly getting back to normal. I've moved on from Ben. In fact, I think I've found someone else I want to make mine." He seemed optimistic, and I couldn't help the smile that graced my face. He sounded a bit mysterious, but that didn't bother me. Greg used to always be so happy. I just hoped someday he'd be like that again.

We arrived in the parking lot of the motel. Greg sneered at the rundown place, snorting. "This place is shit, Sam." After a moment of thought, he added, "The owner of this place is shit, too."

When we got closer, speak of the fucking devil, Harry was standing there, hands in fists and face on fire. He must have seen us coming through a window.

I gulped and Greg stopped where he was.

"Sam, where the _fuck _have you been! I've been goin' out of my fuckin' _mind _looking for your dumb ass!" His arms were flinging this way and that as he scurried in our direction. Greg shifted his feet, ready to run, but I gripped his hand as a halt.

Dean and John's window blinds were completely open, and I knew it wouldn't be long before they saw us. They would definitely come to help.

My prediction came true sooner than expected. One second Harry was raging toward us with angry fists, and the next Dean had arrived and yanked him backwards, his arm crushed against the smaller man's neck.

"Do you have a problem, buddy?" Dean asked, his teeth grit but voice surprisingly calm. "Because if you do I can gladly address it."

Harry couldn't see the physical threat behind him, but the looming shadow over his body was as good an indicator as any that he was not in a safe place. Harry was dumb, but he knew better than to try anything _that _stupid. "N-No. No p-problems, no problems."

Dean nodded, turning the man around and shoving him in the direction of his own room. "Good. Now go the fuck away."

Harry stumbled to the ground but quickly got to his feet, holding his injured neck as he hurried back to his room. He only glanced back once to see the raging fires in Dean's eyes. Harry whimpered and didn't look back again.

Dean and John rushed toward Greg and me. I knew they were worried. I had another injury and the clothes I was wearing were clearly not my own.

Dean briefly acknowledged Greg before touching his hand to my bleeding neck, as gentle as though he were trying to calm a raging bull.

"Whose clothes are these?" Dean asked as he continued to assess my injuries.

"Daryl's," I said quietly.

Dean sneered and suddenly had no quarrels with tearing the shirt down the middle. I was surprised at his strength, then I remembered I shouldn't be surprised at all.

His strength rivaled, if not surpassed, Greg's.

I watched his expression as he noticed my bloody nipple. It was a mixture of disbelief and everything synonymous with complete hatred. I could tell he was doing his best not to flip his shit; he was actually doing a decent job.

John looked far from pleased also, and he pointed an arm in the direction of the motel room. "Come on, let's get him treated."

Greg carried me to the room and sat me down on the bed. I was careful to land gingerly on my sore butt. I looked to Greg. The trek had been pretty lengthy; he must be exhausted by now.

Dean was already on his knees in front of me, ointment and bandages at the ready.

He worked on my neck first, softly dabbing away the excess blood with a wet cloth. The blood soon cleared away, and Dean got a closer look at the wound. His expression was pissed. "God, did that fucker actually _bite _you?"

I shied away, embarrassed and slightly ashamed. "Y-Yeah..."

Dean hissed. "Fuck."

I flinched lightly, but otherwise didn't react.

"Dad, can you dab this cloth in soap?" Dean asked John, who'd been standing behind him.

Before Dean had even finished his sentence John had already taken the cloth and gone into the bathroom. A moment later he was back, and Dean took the cloth and cleaned my wound.

After Dean cleaned the neck bite he wrapped it in clean dressing.

He applied ointment and a bandage to my nipple, his expression scarier than death. Dean had always been reluctantly allowing me to continue my prostitution with Daryl, but was he regretting that now?

With my neck and nipple treated, Dean took both my hands into his, noting the bruises that were starting to color my wrists.  
Dean looked like he wanted to say something, and I shivered at the dark glare in his eyes. He growled but said nothing, softly dropping my hands back into my lap.

Dean stood and went to put the first aid kit away. Greg's split lip went untreated, but I don't think anyone noticed. It felt weird to be such an important person to this group of people. Too think someone as insignificant as me could be so cared for…

I smiled as I watched Dean bend at the waist to put the kit in his duffel.

Then stopped immediately when I realized it looked like I was smiling at his ass.

Everyone congregated. Greg and I sat on one bed (I felt weird and a bit uncomfortable. _Dean _was supposed to be beside me), while the Vesters sat on the other.

"So," Dean began. "Wanna explain what happened?"

I barely contained the shiver that wanted to race through my body. Dean was still very displeased. His gaze went back to my neck, his eyes darkening.

I gulped and remained silent. Greg could take this one.

Greg seemed a bit intimidated, and I didn't blame him. Greg was big, Greg was strong, but Greg wasn't Dean.

Greg began. "I went to Daryl's house to give him his medicine." I blinked. I'd always been curious what Greg brought Daryl. I absently wondered what the medicine was for. "I walked into the bedroom and saw…uh…" He swallowed. "Daryl and Sam having…sex."

I didn't remember Greg ever being this awkward about my sexual activities. Did he hate me for it now? Was it no longer forgivable?

Greg continued. "Sam had been telling Daryl to stop, that it hurt, a-and…and he just kept fucking going." I kept my gaze down. I did not want to see Dean and John's expression right now. "So I stepped in and stopped him, knocked Daryl out, got Sam dressed, then got the heck outta there."

I was eternally grateful Greg didn't bring up the cock ring and handjob. The mere visual of how the Vesters would react made me want to puke.

There was a moment of silence as they absorbed everything. Greg's arm was resting around my shoulders, the hand rubbing up and down along my upper arm. I didn't move from my spot or react to his touch, keeping my gaze down and fingers loosely joined in front of me.

"Sam, does he know where you live?"

My head jerked up. "Huh?"

Dean's gaze was fiery, and I hated myself for sounding so stupid.

"Daryl. Does Daryl know where you live?"

I shook my head hastily. "N-No. He doesn't know."

He nodded in response.

I shivered. Dean's voice was angry, but it held a hint of something else, too. Something I didn't understand. What could it be?

John spoke. "And now Harry knows we're housing Sam. It won't be safe here much longer."

I shook my head sadly. "There's nowhere else I can go. No one else would accept me."

Greg's hand squeezed my arm in sudden excitement. "Sammy, you can stay with me. My dad and sister would love to have you."

My eye twitched, and from my peripheral I saw Dean flinch. He stood suddenly, muttering, "I gotta piss."

I watched him leave, a sad expression on my features. What have I done? Was he still that angry?

I turned my attention back to Greg, voice sullen. "Greg, I know better than that. They hate me."

Greg's abrupt niceness was nice, it was great, but I also had mixed feelings. For two _years, _he had ignored me. I'd knocked on their door every day, searched for them whenever possible. I knew I had done a terrible thing, aiding in his mother's death. But this sudden desire to be my friend again…I didn't get it.

Maybe I was just thinking that because the hole he left had already been filled.

That thought almost brought a smile to my face.

John's eyebrow rose at my words, and Greg's shoulders slouched in agreement. "Yeah…"

John spoke. "We can protect Sam here. Harry knows of his presence, but there's little he can do about it. Dean and I will make the necessary precautions until we find something more suitable."

I liked that idea much better than Greg's. I was glad I'd get to stay with the Vesters.

Greg seemed dismayed, but he nodded in agreement. "Alright."

The bathroom door opened and Dean was back. He didn't meet my gaze, and John looked at his watch, standing.

"Greg, son, it's been nice seeing you but I think it's time we get you back home."

It wasn't quite dark outside, and Greg looked ready to protest. He looked to me, and I nodded my agreement. For some reason, I was ready for it to just be me and the Vesters again.

He grit his teeth then opened his mouth. He looked like was about to speak but, finally, he submitted, shutting his mouth and nodding wordlessly.

He stood, and I stood with him. My ass was a bit sore, and I moved gingerly and carefully.

Greg turned to me and put both his hands on my face. He forced his lips onto mine, and my first instinct was to take a step back. He followed, taking a step forward.

My brain wasn't enjoying the kiss too much, but I remained a still and steady partner. His lips were warm against mine, but for the first time I didn't think I liked that. It felt hot, and I almost felt like I was burning. This was no longer something I wanted, and somehow the kiss we were sharing now felt different than our past kisses. We used to kiss as an indicator I was okay, I was safe. But…this…This felt different, and I didn't think in a good way.

Thankfully, soon enough, Greg released me. He kept his hands in place, though, and his eyes were smoldering as he looked into mine. "I've missed you."

I've missed him, too, but for different reasons. I missed him because he ignored me. I missed him because we used to be best friends and after his mother's death he'd never open the door for me when I knocked. He's missed me, yet he's always avoided me?

How could that be? How could he miss me? I was always right _there. _All he had to do was open the door.

I nodded, and John opened the door, lightly clearing his throat. He was clearly ready to go.

Greg stepped out, and John looked to Dean. "I'm taking him home then bringing food. Text me when you both decide what you want."

Dean nodded, his voice still not back to normal. "Yes, sir."

John closed and locked the door and, suddenly, we were alone. It had never felt awkward before, so why was I so tense?

I swallowed, sitting back on my spot on the bed. Dean remained standing, seemingly pensive as he stood still, hands in his pockets and gaze distant.

Suddenly he turned. "I'm going to take a shower."

"Wait!" I said before I could help myself, my hand reaching out for him without my consent. Dean seemed surprised, and I cowered a bit at his gaze, lowering my hand. "U-Um…did I…did I do something?"

Dean watched me. "What?"

"Y-You seem…angry w-with me."

Dean's gaze softened, and he moved to sit beside me. "Of course not, Sammy." He ruffled my hair. "I'm angry about what happened to you, but you haven't done anything wrong. I'm not unhappy with you at all."

I swallowed, briefly meeting his eyes. "T-Then I don't understand. Is something wrong? You've been acting…different."

For a moment, Dean's eyes clouded and he seemed to be contemplating something. Was he trying to decide if he should tell me? Did he trust me with his secret?

But then Dean gave a sad smile, patting my back. "Sorry, kiddo, this one I gotta keep to myself."

I didn't know what to say to that, and then Dean stood, grabbing a pair of clean boxers before disappearing into the bathroom.

I put a hand to my face. What was going on?

XxXxXxXxX

**Dean POV**

My fist collided with the porcelain tile, but I didn't feel it.

Sometimes it seemed like I didn't feel anything.

Heh. Yeah fucking right.

I was having a harder time with this than I thought. I wasn't demonstrating great composure, but I knew this was something I'd have to come to terms with. It wasn't that big of a deal, really. All my life, it's just been me and Dad. There was no reason for that to change. It wasn't that big of a deal that nothing changed, right?

Was Sam going to leave us soon?

The thought brought a humorless chuckle to my lips. I never thought I could rely on someone other than family or other, close hunter friends. But somehow, Sam had snuck his way into my heart, and I didn't think I had it in me to let him go.

Me, Dean Winchester, _jealous. _Who would've thought.

Because I was, clear as day. Greg was back and ready to be fucking bff's with Sammy again. The two of them went way back, and where was I in the mix? I was just some "policeman" that happened to be in the right place at the right time.

But I saw Sammy as more than that. He was like a brother I never had, and I didn't want to share him.

I huffed under the showerhead, rubbing my face painfully. Wow, I had to stop thinking like that. I can't _own _a person and, after everything Sam's been through, I didn't want to. He deserved to be his own person, and I would never do anything that would hurt him. It was Sam's life, and I just wanted him happy.

I was embarrassed with myself that I'd had to escape like a girl to the bathroom to hide my emotions. That was pretty lame, wasn't it? I'd already showered today but yet here I was, back again out of fear.

I turned off the water. This was just a waste of time.

I dried off then put on my boxers. Time to face Sammy.

XxXx

I opened the bathroom door to find him curled up in the sheets, his body in a ball. His eyes were open, but I could tell he was exhausted.

God…poor kid. He wanted to sleep but he couldn't sleep, at least not alone. He no longer had those horrible phobias, but part of me wondered if this was a curse even worse than the others.

He looked up at my arrival, and I offered a small smile. I had to act normal. I would respect any decision Sam made. I had to, or I'd just end up hating myself.

I smiled at him. "Hey, Sammy."

"Hey," he returned softly, seemingly happy that I was happy.

I grabbed my phone off the table then crawled into bed beside him. "Dad wants to know what we want for dinner."

Once I was situated on my back, Sam immediately snuggled into me, his head resting on my chest.

I smiled as I reminisced. The first time he'd done it he'd been so hesitant and frightened, and he'd actually asked for _permission. _When I had finally figured out what he wanted, I heaved him into me and told him to never ask for permission ever again.

Sam shrugged into my body. "Whatever you want is fine."

I rolled my eyes. "Come on, Sammy, you must have some sort of craving." I hated when he did that. I wanted to get what _he _wanted. I wanted to shower him with all his favorite foods and, when he got tired of those, I'd buy him everything else.

Not a good mindset for a man on a budget, but that was how I felt.

There was a pause as he pondered. "Um…" I looked down and his face seemed a bit shy. "I-I don't really care what we eat f-for dinner, but…" His cheeks were slightly tinted, and he had a soft smile. "Could I get a piece of pie, please?"

My mouth was a wide "O" and my heart nearly broke at how cute he was. Did he want some pie because of _me? _All those days ago when I'd told him I loved pie, and he'd painfully said he didn't remember the taste of sweets? Is that why he was embarrassed, because he wanted to experience something that I personally enjoyed?

Why did something that simple make me so happy?

"Y-Yeah, okay, Sammy," I said as I flipped my phone open. Damn, I could not get this smile off my face.

Twenty minutes later and John was back. Sam had fallen asleep by then, and I was surprised the door opening didn't wake Sammy up. Though, I guess that was a true testament to how tired he was. He'd been…he'd been _hurt, _by that fucking _Daryl, _so he deserved all the rest he could get.

Thirty minutes after John arrived Sam woke up, groggily blinking and stretching against me. I'd been worried that me being shirtless would scare him when he woke up, but he knew immediately who I was. That made me happy.

Ten minutes after he woke up we had dinner and pie. Sam seemed to enjoy it, and that's what made this whole thing worth it. As long as Sammy liked it, then we'd keep doing it.

An hour after dinner we were heading to bed. Sam complained that he'd slept so much already he didn't think he could go back to sleep, but five minutes after he rested his head on my chest he was out like a light. John looked at me with an amused smile, and I couldn't keep the smile off my face. I held him tightly to my body and closed my eyes.

I knew it was likely that, ultimately, Sam would choose Greg over us. That wasn't weird, that was just the way it was supposed to be. It wasn't something I had come to terms with yet but, when the time came, I'd hand him over. If Sam's allegiance toward Greg was as strong now as it was before, I'd accept that. I wouldn't complain, but I knew I wouldn't forget about him. Maybe Dad and I could visit him again.

The thought of never having to leave Sam seemed so much more appealing, and it wasn't long before that thought took me quietly and contently to sleep.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Do we approve of Dean's POV? It was oddly enjoyable to write.**

**And if you're confused about Greg and Sam's past, don't be alarmed. The explanation has not been completed. **

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	8. Chapter 8

**So...ugh. Life has become extraordinarily cruel in recent days. Due to the situation, this fanfic is ending shorter than anticipated. Rest assured, there is a resolution and semi-acceptable conclusion. It should be relatively enjoyable.**

**Warnings: Angst and potentially glaring typos. **

**Nevertheless. I present to you the second-to-last chapter of this fanfic. **

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Sam POV**

I woke up to warmth. I also woke up to the sound of knuckles knocking on our motel door.

I was groggy, tired, and in no mood to be greeting random people this early in the morning. Dean, the cause of the warmth, attempted to move out from under me, but I used the arm I had slung over him to keep him still.

"Stay," I grumbled barely coherently.

Dean did a small chuckle, and he shuffled back into position, no longer attempting to move.

I'm assuming John opened the door, and a big happy "Hey!" suddenly erupted through the room. It nearly burst my eardrums and I quickly snuggled my head into Dean's armpit to escape from the painful noises. I was _not _in the mood for this.

Though, thinking about it, that voice sounded like Greg, and I had a feeling it'd been a while since he'd sounded that happy. I needed to at least make an effort.

But after his greeting there was nothing but silence, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable.

I didn't understand the source, so I moved my head just enough to peak behind me.

Greg was standing stock-still at the foot of our bed, watching Dean and me with a cryptic, indefinable expression. I used to be able to read him so well. We'd been best friends, after all. Now, though…this facial expression was completely foreign to me.

I couldn't see Dean, but John was watching Greg not too happily. Was he suspicious of _Greg? _The biggest fluffy man in the world?

Dean spoke. "Hey…Watcha doing here?"

His voice seemed detached, and it was menacing to hear.

Greg was staring at something over my shoulder, and I knew it was Dean he was giving the evil eye. The reason for that, though…that evaded me completely.

He growled, "I'm here to see Sammy."

Dean quickly retorted. "_Sammy _is trying to sleep right now. Don't you think your timing is a bit premature?" There was real bite when he said my name.

I swiftly glanced at the clock. _7:14am. _Jesus. Greg was always a late sleeper, sleeping past noon any day it was possible. Why was he even here?

My eyes had gradually shut without my permission, but they swung open when heavy footsteps traveled closer in my direction. Suddenly something yanked on my wrist, sitting me upright.

"Come on, Sammy," Greg said, continuing to tug me. His grip on my wrist was painful, partly because of his own strength and partly because of the bruises that remained from Daryl.

"Greggg," I whined, not fighting him but clearly not condoning him, either. "It's too early. I want to sleep."

"But I wanted to see you."

"At _seven _in the morning, Greg? Why are you awake this early?"

"Because I wanted to see you."

This was getting weird for me. We'd never been so dependent on each other's presence before. We met at The Ramrod together and I visited his house some, but that was the extent. We were great friends but we didn't freakin' live in each other's pants.

I forced my wrist out of his grip, nursing it slightly before setting it in my lap. "How about this," I started, preparing a compromise. "You go back home, and later today I'll come visit you."

Greg's expression was ecstatic, like he'd been waiting for me to say that. "Okay! My dad and sister are out of town until tomorrow so anytime is perfect. You _have_ to come see me!"

I nodded. I was relieved Greg's family wouldn't be there. I doubted they were quite as forgiving as Greg was being right now, and I wasn't entirely ready to confront them about it yet.

A low, barely audible growl escaped Dean's lips, so quiet I wondered if I even heard it.

For now, I'd interpret that as me hearing things. I addressed Greg. "Sure, I will see you then."

Greg nodded excitedly with a big grin on his face. He hugged me and kissed me then ran out the door.

John's eyebrows were creased and his mouth in a grim line as he closed the door. His hand lingered on the doorknob, and his pondering gaze seemed daunting. What scary thoughts could he be thinking this early in the day?

I resituated myself in the bed, already back in sleep-mode. "Dean, lay back down." Dean didn't move, and I elbowed him in the ribs. My pillow needed to cooperate if I was going to go back to sleep.

"Sam…I don't know if I want you going to visit Greg."

I blinked. My brain had already shut itself off so I was a bit slow in understanding. Did I hear him right? Did he say he didn't want me to visit my friend?

"Why?" I asked stonily. I couldn't help that my voice sounded displeased.

Very, very displeased.

"Sammy, he seems…different than I remember him. I don't think you can trust him the way you used to."

I huffed and rolled my eyes. I'd had enough of this. All I wanted right now was to _sleep._

"Dean, please lay down. I want to sleep."

"Only if you agree not to see Greg."

…Yep, looked like I wouldn't be sleeping anymore.

I got off Dean and backed away, enough to look at him head on. What was his problem? Why was he acting like this?

A thought crossed my mind, and my eyes squinted in ill-concealed malice. "Are you jealous of him?"

Was our disagreement on something so petty? Dean didn't like that I had more friends than _just _the Vesters, so he was trying to sabotage that?

Dean said nothing for a moment, looking away.  
I scoffed, throwing the sheets off me and getting out of the bed. I was only wearing boxers, and I threw on my pants and shirt in haste.

From behind me I heard Dean jump out of the bed. "Sammy, what are you doing?"

"_Going out."_

I sat down on the edge of John's bed to pull on my socks and shoes. Dean quickly reached me and pleaded, "Sam, I know it sounds weird, but please, don't go see Greg. I just don't trust him—."

"_So?" _I suddenly asked, not removing my gaze from him. "You don't trust him, that's fine, but _I _do. I trust him with my life." I shook my head, part of me reminiscing. "You don't know how much he's done for me, how much he's saved me from."

Dean swallowed, seeming to have nothing to say.

In complete honesty, I had seen small changes in Greg, too. He was needier, more glued to my side than before. But I didn't think something like that changed our friendship, and it certainly didn't change our past.

I have always respected Dean and John's opinions but, at the same time, that didn't mean I had to agree, and that didn't mean I had to live my life based on their opinions.

My shoes were on and I walked out the door.

"Sam—."

"Chill," I said, waving without turning back. "I'll be back by noon." I stopped, turning so they could see the hostility in my eyes. "Don't follow me."

They didn't.

XxXxXxXxX

"Sammy, I'm so glad you made it! And so soon!"

I mentally smacked myself. Damn.

Greg greeted me with open arms and a too-happy face. With my previous confrontation with Dean, I was still sullen and it was impossible for me to share his excitement.

After I'd left the motel, despite my harsh words and actions, I hadn't been intending to visit Greg. I liked the Vesters—fuck, I was tempted to say I loved them—and the last thing I wanted to do was disappoint them. After I'd walked, blown off some steam, I'd realized I'd been in the wrong. I'd overreacted. I agreed with myself that I wouldn't visit Greg, not until the Vesters gave me the green light.

Unfortunately, though, my feet had unconsciously taken me to Greg's neighborhood, and he had just so happened to be taking out the trash at the time.

I winced. Damn, there was no way out of this.

Greg grabbed my wrist and immediately yanked me into his small home, closing and locking the door behind him.

I raised an eyebrow. "Why lock the door?"

Greg paused for a moment, still facing the door, but then he was back, turning in my direction. "Well, you know, we don't live in the best neighborhood. Can never be too careful."

I nodded in agreement. That was definitely a justifiable reason.

Greg almost pranced into his kitchen, so joyous it was physically painful to watch. "Sammy, can I offer you a drink? Water? Coke? Beer?"

I sat on the sofa I always used to sit on when I'd visit here. "Water would be great, thank you."

"Okay! I'm going to flavor your water, though. I found this awesome Crystal Light flavor you have to try."

Wow, this dude was way too happy. How long had I walked? What time was it?

I found a clock on the wall. _8:35am._

Still damn to early to be this happy.

I looked around the living room nostalgically. It was small, and not much has changed since last time I'd been here years ago.

I had a lot of good memories here. In fact, I couldn't remember anything bad ever happening in this house while I was here. This place was so peaceful.

I hope it always stayed that way.

Greg arrived from the kitchen carrying two glasses of red-colored water.

"I hope you like Strawberry-Kiwi Crystal Light, Sammy," he said with a big smile.

I nodded, thanking him and standing to take the glass. He sat down beside me, happy as he took a sip of his water.

I admired the dark coloring briefly. The couch we were on was white; I'd have to be careful not to spill this.

"Come on, try it Sammy, it's delicious."

Was he such a happy person he could be enthusiastic about something as simple as Crystal Light?

What an odd duck.

I didn't argue, though. I took a sip, bigger than I typically would. I hadn't eaten or drank anything all morning.

For all the talking up Greg had done, I wasn't entirely impressed. It was good, but it was oddly tangy. Did this kind of flavoring even belong? It was…weird.

Damn, I was so sleepy. It was way too early in the morning to be alive right now. I wonder if Greg would let me take a small nap before we hung out?

I didn't think I could make it to his bed, though. I was just so…so tired. Why was I so tired?

The glass slipped from my hands, and I heard it splash then shatter. I barely realized as the world started turning on its side. I landed on something hard, but I couldn't identify it.

Before I knew it, I was gone.

**XxXxXxXxX**

Returning to the land of the living had been a damn chore. Oblivion had been such sweet bliss, but part of me also recognized something was wrong. I wanted to sleep, but sleep wasn't safe.

I slowly opened my eyes, taking in my surroundings. I was in Greg's bedroom. The decorations and wall color were exactly the same as I remembered them.

It was nostalgic being in here. We used to rough house and play so many games in this room. Such good memories…

Though, looking around, I did note one change I hadn't realized. Greg had always had a huge, beautiful framed picture of Ben sitting on the dresser. He had smiled so prettily at the camera that day, but the photo had been replaced. Now sitting in the frame…

No, that didn't make sense. I squinted harder. The person in the frame now was…me?

What?

I was staring at myself. The picture frame contained a picture of _me. _I wasn't looking at the camera, probably hadn't even known he was taking it. My clothes were disheveled, and I had obvious hickeys on my neck and jawline. This picture was taken after I'd been with a client.

Why the fuck would Greg have something like this?

"Hey, Sammy," Greg greeted so happily as he entered his room. "I'm so glad you're finally awake."

"U-Um…" It was then I realized my hands were tied to the bed with heavy amounts of duct tape. Reality was slowly sinking in, and my heart sank to my stomach. Why…why…

What?

I heard a step, and my gaze raced back to Greg, never leaving his figure. "I…I…I don't understand. Wh-What's going on?"

Greg pouted, and he was now standing directly beside the bed. He pinched my cheek. "Ah, come on, Sammy, don't look so saaddd. Don't you want me to be happy? Hasn't your goal always been to make me happy?"

I gulped. Everything felt so foreign right now. It felt like the world had been flipped on its axis and I had entered an alternate universe. I didn't understand any of this.

The Greg in front of me was no longer the Greg I knew. He grabbed my jaw and crushed our lips together, and my body understood more than my mind what was going on. I fought against the tape and tried to move my face away from Greg's. His hand was strong, though, and the kiss continued only until he broke it.

"I've been wanting to ride you for a long time now, Sammy."

"P-Please…Please, n-no more. Just stop this."

This was all a joke. This was all a sick joke and soon Greg would be yelling, "Surprise! Got ya again," with a big hardy laugh.

Greg cooed, "Ah, come on, you share your body with everyone else. Why can't you share it with your best buddy?"

Words wouldn't come out of my mouth. I couldn't speak. All I could do was shake my head as tears started to spill. I couldn't believe this was happening. Why was this happening?

He got onto the bed and straddled my waist. It was then I realized I was clad in nothing but boxers. How did I not realize he'd taken my clothes?

He tore off the bandages on my neck and nipple and started kissing me all over, as if to replace Daryl's touches with his own. I started to kick, throwing my legs out wildly, but Greg was so much bigger than me. He easily tucked my legs under his arms, keeping them hooked and out of the way.

I bucked my body up, desperate. "_Please. _This isn't like you. Greg, please stop this!"

Greg chuckled menacingly. "Oh, I can assure you this is 'like' me." He licked and nibbled on my injured nipple. "I've been dreaming of this moment for weeks."

W-Weeks? He's been having thoughts of me like this for _weeks?_

He continued his ministrations, trailing down and sucking on my penis through my boxers. I threw my head back and withheld a moan.

"It was then I discovered my love for Ben had been superficial. _You _are the true love of my life and, today, I am going to fuck you to prove that."

I'd never been a smart kid. I had minimal school education, and most of my knowledge has been picked up on the streets. I didn't know Calculus, but I knew how to suck a cock. I'd never been a kid gifted in understanding emotions, either. If they weren't requesting I suck cock or fuck, then I no longer knew what they were thinking.

Unfortunately, at this moment…I did know what Greg was thinking. Everything was becoming clear now. The light bulb was no longer flickering; it was on with 1,000 watts worth of comprehension.

It was so obvious. Greg was going to rape me.

My mind seemed to turn off, then, and those 1,000 watts went to complete waste as everything in my brain shut down. The boxers were slid off my hips and my legs were pushed far back to rest near my chest.

Greg was staring at my body, and he licked his lips hungrily. "Damn, you are so beautiful."

He penetrated me. My first best friend. The best friend that had saved me from getting raped so many times in the past, was here in the present raping me now. Had his mother's death made him go insane? Did you have to be clinically crazy to want to rape your best friend?

Nevertheless, rape me he did. His sweat fell in droplets onto my chest as he thrust over and over and over. It felt endless. His hands were gripping tight on the meat of my thighs, keeping my legs up and spread. We didn't want them to get in the way.

What would the Vesters think when they discovered how badly I fucked up? How would they react if they saw me right now? I'd always tried so hard to make them proud. To make them feel at least slightly impressed with me.

But that was just hopeful thinking

"And…don't be waiting for…your friends…to save you," I barely heard him say in between thrusts. I thought I'd escaped into my mind, that I could no longer sense my surroundings, but apparently I didn't escape as thoroughly as I would've liked. Everything was dull, but everything was still there.

"Last night…I…told John…the wrong house," he rasped out without breaking rhythm.

I felt like crying. This was all my fault. Dean had warned me about Greg, and I ignored him. I had shielded my eyes and overlooked everything Dean had so easily seen.

I started, "G-Greg, t-ta…" He was moving at such a rapid rate my body was jolting and I could barely talk. "Take off…t-the tape."

Greg was sweating profusely, his body wet and glistening. He huffed and laughed in amusement, still thrusting. "Why the hell…would I…do that?"

"S-So I can do things, t-too."

His pace slowed, and his eyes were wide with shock. They had a little twinkle in them, as if I was about to bring to life one of his biggest fantasies. As though I was going to make his most desired dream come true.

I wanted to throw up.

If he had any qualms about untying me, he didn't show them now. He ripped at the tape with his hands, and soon I was free.

I internally chuckled, not amused at all. Free? Was I really free?

It felt like I'd never be free again.

Before he could pick his thrusting pace back up to optimum power, I wrapped my hands around Greg's neck. I wasn't even thinking. I didn't even know what my own intentions were until I was already choking him.

His face started turning blue, and he stopped thrusting. His tongue was falling out of his mouth, and his hands were hitting at me.

Greg has always been strong but somehow, at that moment, I was stronger than a god. Greg had been my best friend. I had trusted him more than I ever could've trusted my mother or the other employees at The Ramrod. Two years ago, he'd been my life.

Today, though, I may just end his life.

He had broken my trust in the worst way imaginable. He had drugged me, shackled me, and raped me. He was the worst kind of client.

And he didn't even pay.

My mind was boggled. None of my thoughts made sense. Once Greg was lying motionless on top of me, I let go of his neck. His body was heavy, and I heaved him off of me. His chest was still moving up and down.

I didn't know if I liked that or not, but I let it be.

I shoved my clothes on, more gingerly when I was putting on my boxers and pants. I limped into the living room. The white sofa I was sitting on earlier was stained red with Crystal Light.

For some reason, that made me unbearably sad.

This house used to be free of sadness, but now it was all I saw.

I stumbled out of the house and toward the motel room. My vision was hazy as I wandered. I didn't know where I was going, but I trusted my feet to take me in the right direction. There were people I needed to see…they were important, I just knew it.

I tripped over a mauled piece of cement, falling flat on my face. I didn't get back up, merely staring at the sidewalk.

Memories returned. The Vesters…fuck. This world was so cruel.

Dean and John would be so disappointed. I had gone against their word, and now I'd shamed my body and I'd shamed myself.

The trek had taken double the time it usually would, but at last the motel was in sight.

I gulped, feeling my body quivering and trembling in fright. How will they react? Will they shun me, hate me?

I didn't know if I wanted to know the answer.

**XxXxXxXxXxX**

**Greg's character took a maddening turn for the worse, yes? So unfortunate. So, so unfortunate.**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Here it is, I am at last presenting the last chapter.**

**I genuinely hope there are no glaring typos. I did my best. Enjoy all!**

**XxXxXxXxX**

I was resting against our motel room door. Thank gods Harry wasn't in sight.

I knocked on the door. Unfortunately, I was also leaning against it, and when the door was yanked open I freefalled.

Warm, strong arms caught me, and I was kind of surprised I was anticipating it. Greg had let me down, but Dean and John?

Not a chance.

It was weird I was so certain of that, but I let it go for another time.

"Sam, oh my gosh, I am so sorry I should have listened to you this is all my fault I'm so sorry."

Dean's voice was going a mile a minute as he carefully carried me to the nearest bed. He sounded so guilty, and there were unshed tears in his eyes.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry, Sammy. I should've known better than to scold you about Greg. I'm sure he's a great guy and I messed up I'm so sorry please forgive me."

A pit of emotions clumped in my stomach. A lump was in my throat, and I couldn't bring myself to respond.

A few moments passed, and Dean's expression was violently changing as he got a better look at me. He knelt beside me by the bed and something seemed to dawn on him. I had a bruise on my cheek and the wound on my neck was unbandaged. Finally, he was actually _seeing _me.

"Sammy…" His fingers grazed lightly on my cheek. The darkened area hurt, and it must've been when Greg was fighting against my grip. "W-What…" His eyes were growing with fury, and he pulled his hand away just in time before it turned into a hard fist. "Who did this to you? I swear, whoever it was, I will _kill _them." His teeth were barred, and it genuinely did not look like he was joking.

Dean must have been freaking out this whole time while I was gone. I had just got up and left, with no concern about how it'd effect the Vesters. They'd probably been so worried. What time was it? Where was John?

I turned my gaze down, ashamed. Dean didn't seem to be under the impression Greg was the culprit. He probably felt so bad about me running off it never occurred to him his suspicion about Greg could be right.

Hell, he probably thought I'd followed his request and never went to visit him in the first place.

I was the worst.

Tears spilled down my cheeks. This wasn't something I wanted to talk about. I didn't want to delve into how much I failed them, how much I fucked up.

"Sammy?" he spat out immediately after seeing my tears. A shaky, strong hand gripped my shoulder, and once again I became a horrible person. I completely ignored him and replaced his question with one of my own.

"W-Where's John?" My voice was unsteady, and I was surprised the words could come out at all.

My tremor did not go unnoticed, and Dean's gaze never left me. "He's sitting outside Greg's house. I'm so sorry, we didn't know. We should've known better. I'll text him right now and tell him you're back."

As Dean was hastily typing buttons, my heart was plummeting to the ground. Dean didn't think anything happened with Greg because he'd had John waiting at the wrong house. When I never arrived there, they concluded I'd never gone to see Greg.

"That's…," I began. Dean looked up swiftly, putting his phone back in his pocket and placing his hands on my sides. "T-That…that was…" I put a hand over my face. "Wrong house."

Dean's eyes were swirling with confusion, and I could tell he was trying hard to understand. "What, Sammy? What?"

I shook my head, and tears spilled onto my cheeks. "John was guarding the wrong house."

For a moment comprehension lit up on Dean's face, but stark denial quickly pushed it away. The truth was scary, and he didn't want to believe it. "What?...What?"

A sob tore through my chest. "G…Greg…he…he…"

Dean shook me frantically, his whole body now trembling with unrepressed anger. "He what, Sammy?! He _what?!_"

"I-I'm sorry. I'm s-so so s-sorry." I put a hand to my face; I didn't dare look him in the eyes. "G-Greg…"

There was a loud knock on the door, and Dean didn't take kindly to it. His teeth clacked against each other, his stare at the door so enraged it looked like he was ready to punch the door down.

Dean walked over and hurled the door open, shoved John into the motel room, then slammed the door back.

He was immediately back by my side, and John did well with reading the scene. He didn't say anything, but he immediately took in my presence. He had a puzzled, concerned look toward my injuries, and his hands were in tight fists.

"Sammy…" I turned my gaze back to Dean. His expression was so imploring and desperate I couldn't bring myself to look away. "Please…tell me what happened. You…you said something about Greg?"

I gulped. My butthole seemed to throb in response, and my chaffed thighs were stinging.

John was moving in the background, grabbing the first aid kit and already at my side. He gathered up some of the items, and I watched as he applied ointment to my neck.

"_Sam," _Dean called out, snapping his fingers in front of my face. He was getting impatient, and his wrath seemed to be exponentially increasing.

Wrath I so infinitely deserved.

I looked away, but Dean was adamant. He placed a hand to my chin, gently bringing me back to him.

"Sammy?" he asked, voice now softer than a purring cat.

I nodded, ignoring the sting of the hydrogen peroxide John was applying. "G-Greg…" I swallowed. I just had to say it. No beating around the bush, no avoiding the issue. Just…just _say _it.

My voice came out squeaky and barely audible. "Greg raped m-me."

The bottle of hydrogen peroxide John was holding dropped to the floor. It sunk into the carpet, spreading like a virus as it darkened the ugly, beige color.

Time seemed to stand still. Dean's lips were moving wordlessly, as if he was having trouble understanding, as if his mind couldn't _physically _wrap around what I was saying.

Then…

"_What?!_"

His voice was a bellow, a shrill roar right into my face.

He wasn't in front of my face for long. In the next moment he was grabbing a dusty lamp and throwing it into the wall across from me. He growled fiercely, his body trembling with fury and unadulterated rage.

"Are you _fucking kidding me?" _he roared.

A bird could be heard chirping outside our small motel window. Rays of sunshine spilled out from between the blinds. The outside world seemed so happy, so peaceful.

Why was it so cruel?

I shivered, and I looked up just in time to watch Dean attempt to hurl another object into the wall. John grappled onto the man from behind, forcing his arms to his side.

The alarm clock in Dean's hand now clattered to the floor. He stopped fighting against John's grip. He merely stared at the space in front of him, mute and listless. Not saying anything, not doing anything, just…existing.

I shuddered.

After a moment, Dean seemed to fall out of John's grasp. The man fell to his knees, and a hand covered his face.

"H-How…" His voice trembled violently. He sounded so desolate. "How…could I let this happen? How did this happen?"

I could no longer sit back and watch. I rushed off the bed and stumbled onto the floor beside Dean. "No, Dean. This _wasn't_ your fault." Damn it. My voice was shakier than I wanted it to be. Why can't I speak more confidently? Why can't I be more like Dean?

Dean looked like he was going to disagree, and I cut him off. I continued. "I…I wasn't planning to see Greg. I should've trusted you. It's all my fault. I didn't realize what Greg wanted."

"…Why?"

"What?"

His eyes were a deep void. He looked so empty. "Why did this happen? How did this happen? How…How…"

My body was trembling, and my heart shattered. I'd fucked up so horribly, yet so much of this burden was falling on Dean's shoulders. How could I let Greg do this to me? How could I let Greg's actions affect Dean this much?

My vision blurred as something wet rolled down my cheeks, but I promptly ignored it. Dean was holding his hands to his face, and I pulled on his wrists, forcing them away.

He initially showed resistance, but after a moment allowed himself to be moved. His eyes were red, and the surrounding skin was gray and sunken in.

A sob forced it's way through my chest, and more wet things screwed with my vision. Dean was a blob, but he was a beautiful blob.

I put my nose into the crook of his neck, my body heavy as I leaned into him.

My fingers were tangled in the front of his shirt, and the water on my face smeared onto Dean's neck. "I-I'm sorry. I'm so s-so sorry."

I squeezed my eyes tight, wishing these nightmares would just go away and fuck off.

But they weren't nightmares in my head, were they? They were nightmares in real life.

Dean's big hand grasped the back of my head, cradling it like it was a baby's head.

I continued, sniffling. "I-Is m-my fault-t. I s-shoulda. I sho-shoulda k-known."

The hand on my head constricted painfully, and he pushed me back enough for me to look into his pretty green eyes. "_No. _This isn't your fault. I-I fucked up. I should've done b-better at keeping him away from you." He covered his face with one hand while the other remained on my head and neck. The fingers on his cheek tightened and curled, and I was scared he was squeezing hard enough to draw blood.

He growled fiercely. "I _fucked up!" _

More sobs wracked my body, and all I could do was shake my head, whimpering, "No no no." I pulled his hand away before he hurt himself, then threw my arms around his shoulders, hugging my body tight to his chest.

I couldn't believe Dean was taking this so hard. How could I have fucked up this badly? What if Dean never recovered?

That thought hit me harder than I could've imagined, and my bones turned to jelly. I wasn't holding my own weight anymore, and Dean didn't seem to have the strength or the will to hold me up. We tumbled to the ground, his body bearing the brunt as I landed on his chest.

How could I put Dean back together again? He was my protector, my brother, and he felt he had failed his job, the _one _job he had assigned himself. He was so sad. So…broken.

Before my 9 year old brother died in the car wreck all those years ago, I'd been nothing but an older brother. But, somehow, for the longest time, I've become used to being a younger one. How was that? How had Dean wiggled his way into my heart so quickly and completely that my birthright had evolved into it's opposite? We weren't blood, but I felt closer to him than I thought was possible. Greg and I had been good friends, but not…_brothers._

This new brother I seemed to have…I'd die for him.

That thought alone renewed my vigor to heal his pains. He was in pain because of me, but I wouldn't let it last.

I refused to let it last.

"I-I'm okay, Dean. I s-swear, I'm okay."

Maybe my voice wasn't entirely convincing, but part of me wondered if my words were partly genuine. Greg had betrayed me, he'd betrayed me in the worst way imaginable.

But for two _years _he hadn't been a part of my life. For two years I'd searched for him but never found. Gradually, slowly, he left my thoughts, being replaced by the Vesters. During those two years after they left, I'd wondered if they were happy. I wondered if they were saving lives. I wondered if they were hurt. I wondered if they'd come back to me.

Every day, it had seemed like I'd been chasing after Greg but, after all this time, I realize it was really the Vesters I wanted.

They were the two people that made my heart whole.

"I'm okay; I'm _okay." _My tear-stricken face and red eyes probably implied differently, but the conviction in my voice was impossible to ignore.

Dean seemed startled at that, and he looked up to meet my gaze evenly. His face looked as horrible as mine probably did.

But I still thought he was beautiful.

Dean searched every expression in my eyes. I didn't know what he saw, but I knew what I _felt. _I'd finally found a home, people I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

I just hoped they felt the same.

"Sammy…" he breathed, his voice more tame than it'd been before. His palm rested lightly against my cheek, a thumb wiping away a stray tear.

His lips parted but nothing came out. It seemed like the words were physically choking him, and then he stopped.

_No. _I wanted to know what he was going to say.

I nudged his shoulder. "What?"

Dean licked his lips, hesitant and awkward. "Y-You're…" He swallowed, and his jaws were clenched. "I've realized it for so long, but part of me never thought it was true." I forgot how to breathe, and my heart was pounding against my chest. What was he going to say?

Say it, just fucking _say it._

A tear rolled down his cheek, and he smiled, his gaze never leaving mine. "You're like a brother to me."

His waterworks were beginning again, and his crying made me cry. What was going on? Why was he crying like this?

"I love you."

My eyes widened in shock, then closed in complete ecstasy. I wrapped my arms around him, crushing myself into his chest.

"I love you too, please don't leave me please don't leave me please don't leave me."

Why was I so happy, so _desperate _to keep him by my side?

But I knew the answer to that. The Vesters had become my everything. When I woke up in the morning, they were the first ones I saw and graced a smile for. They were the ones that protected me unconditionally, no matter the circumstances. They were the ones that picked me up when I was sad or feeling lonely.

I never wanted this to end.

My nose was snuggled into Dean's neck again, and snot was trailing relentlessly out of my nose. I absently felt bad for Dean, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. He can take a shower later.

He didn't seem bothered by the slimy substance on his neck, and just hugged me tighter.

I was enjoying the embrace, but it felt oddly hollow, like we were missing a crucial part. I looked up to see John, tears in his eyes and a pretty smile on his features.

I beckoned him over, and he just laughed. He stood from the side of the bed, walking over and joining us in the embrace.

Dean immediately accepted the newcomer, spreading his arms until they were wrapped around us both. John's stubble tickled my cheek, and I giggled.

I was so happy with the way things were right now. I hated Greg. I hated him more than I'd ever hated anyone. I wished he'd never been born so I didn't have to be betrayed by him.

But the infinite good of the Vesters overcame the finite bad of Greg. This was something I could live with.

All our bodies were starting to cramp by the time we unhinged from each other. I stretched my arms high over my head, absently noticing and enjoying the small smiles still remaining on the Vesters' faces.

My neck stung and my ass twitched in pain. The bottle of hydrogen peroxide was still lying abandoned on the floor, a huge stain soaking into the ugly carpet.

John picked up the bottle, shaking around the little that was left. "This should be enough. Sammy, let's this put on and then you can get some rest."

I nodded shakily. "Y-Yeah, yeah."

I was still ashamed with what happened earlier today, but I pushed it from my mind. Now was not the time.

The older Vester applied the hydrogen peroxide then bandaged the wound on my neck. He applied ointment to my nipple, his face grim and simmering with restrained anger the entire time.

After he finished I thanked him then climbed into the bed, snuggling under the blanket. I didn't know what we were going to do about Greg, and I didn't know what we were planning to do _in general_, but I was too exhausted to worry about it right now.

Dean kicked off his shoes before joining me.

"I'm gonna chill with Sammy. Dad, what are your plans?"

I felt infinitely grateful Dean never complained about my dependence on him. I hated myself for needing him just so I could sleep. What if he wasn't tired; what if he had other things he wanted to do that didn't involve lying in bed with an ex-prostitute? I was just making him waste time.

John was standing and gathering the car keys. "I'm going to go…out."

He and Dean exchanged a meaningful look, and my head swiveled between Dean and John in confusion. What? Were they hiding something from me?

"Alright. See ya later."

John nodded and waved, quickly heading to the door.

And then he was gone, locking the door behind him before revving up the pretty, sleek car.

I just blinked in confusion. I didn't know what was happening, but it didn't feel right of me to ask. If they were intentionally keeping me out of the loop, then it had to be for a reason.

Dean shuffled beside me, getting comfortable.

A pang of guilt stabbed through me. Did Dean actually want to sleep? Maybe he had wanted to go with John to do whatever it was he was doing.

Was I holding Dean back?

"Sammy?" Dean asked questioningly. By now I usually would've been contently lying against him.

My head spun to lock gazes with him. I swallowed. I didn't want Dean to feel obligated to pamper me. I was old enough to take care of myself.

"Um…" I fidgeted with the thin sheet. "Y-You don't have to stay with me i-if you don't want."

He didn't move, just continuing to look at me. His eyes felt like they were burning into me.

Suddenly he was gliding closer to me on the bed, and a big, strong hand cupped my cheek. I gulped as he seemed to stare into my soul. "If I didn't stay with you…would you be able to sleep?"

My heart sank. I hesitantly shook my head. "N-No. Probably not…"

Dean gave a small smile. "Then that settles it."

I shook my head again, because that wasn't fair either. What, I couldn't sleep alone so that meant Dean had to sacrifice himself every time I was a little sleepy? The mere _idea _of becoming a burden to him was a weight I didn't want to carry.

I moved to climb out of the bed. Whatever Dean wanted to do, we'd do it. No questions asked.

But I didn't travel far before Dean was snatching me back. He reached his hand around my back and pushed me against his chest. I squeaked in surprised as I was immediately met with the warmth of his body heat and the light scent of soap.

Gosh…Dean was such a safe haven for me.

I didn't try to move away, and Dean didn't move. After several moments of silence, Dean spoke. "Sammy…are you feeling self-conscious about your…need?" His voice was somber, sad.

I quivered. "I-It's just…e-embarrassing." I burrowed my face further into him, ensuring he couldn't see the red on my cheeks. It was so _shameful. _Have I ever _once _proven myself as independent and self-reliant? Have I ever accomplished anything without outside help?

He placed a finger under my chin and tilted my head up, enough for his eyes to look at mine.

He looked so damn _sad. _He looked overwhelmed with a thousand different emotions, all distinct and equally painful.

"Do you even realize how strong you are?"

I blinked at that. I wasn't strong at all. I was _weak._

Dean seemed to read that in my eyes, and he shook his head fervently. "No, you are _strong. _The strongest person I've ever known."

I huffed unintentionally, my skepticism too immense to be withheld. Me?_ Strong? _

Bullshit.

Dean's eyes were resolute, fiery and tinted a darker green than I remembered him having. They were still beautiful, of course, but they were also…kind of scary.

"Sam."

I shivered. He called me _Sam. _Why did he call me Sam?

After a moment of pause, he suddenly sighed loudly. "Fuck."

He enveloped me in his arms, pulling me into a fierce hug. I did a sharp inhale of breath out of surprise, but I quickly relaxed into the stronghold. Was he displeased with me?

Dean whispered, almost speaking more to himself than me. "Why can't you see yourself the way I see you?"

Tears filled me eyes, and I tried to blink them away. How could Dean have so much faith in me? How could he love me that much? I was…I was so broken.

But Dean didn't seem to think that at all.

I closed my eyes. "I'm sorry."

I felt Dean shake his head against his hair. "Never apologize to me ever again."

I smiled lightly as a tear traveled across my nose. Gods, he meant so much to me.

"Thank you, Dean."

His arms tightened around me. "No problem, little brother."

More tears spilled down my face, and I softly coasted to sleep, feeling more loved and more cherished than any other person in the world.

XxXxXxXxX

I woke up to the opening and closing of a door. I could lightly feel the sunrays beaming down on one side of my body. The other side of my body somehow felt hotter, and I determined it was Dean's body heat that was acting as a furnace.

I internally smiled. Of course it'd be Dean that's brighter than the sun.

The cackling of car keys could be heard in the short distance across the room. Some memories were coming back. John had left for some unknown reason, and I assumed he had now made it back.

There was whispered dialogue between the two, but I didn't really listen. I kind of hoped I'd fall back asleep. Having someone sleep with me in a non-sexual way was a blessing. Having _Dean _sleep with me was like a chorus of angels singing their acceptance and granting me eternal happiness. Before the Vesters had come back I didn't know this kind of bliss existed. Sleeping had seemed like a disgusting task that was often interrupted with a few bouts of sex with my customer.

Now, though...Sleep was amazing.

The film of haziness slowly drifted from me as I heard Dean's voice rise in volume and animosity. That confused me, and I begrudgingly decided it was time to awaken.

I peaked my eyes open lazily, suddenly met with a face full of flesh.

My face had somehow gotten snuggled into Dean's neck, my nose buried in his nape, and my cheeks grew bright red. I did a tiny gasp as I immediately backed away and put distance between us.

"S-Sorry!"

I knew I'd performed a similar action not that long ago, but it didn't feel the same. The circumstances had allowed for emotional awkwardness. This did…not.

Dean was just as surprised as me. My outburst had probably not been expected at all. He chuckled at my antics, unbothered and clearly wide awake.

His chuckle was cute and genuine, but part of me wondered if his eyes held a bit of secrecy in them. And anger.

Damn my laziness. What had John and Dean been talking about?

John had a stern, tired look on his face. Both Vesters sported sunken eyes, and neither met my gaze.

I was suddenly starting to feel some tension in the room.

"Uh…" I began. "Is something going on?"

Neither looked my way, but Dean's eyes did flicker to John.

There was a long moment of silence as no one said anything, and I was starting to think no one was going to answer my question at all. Finally, John spoke up, running his fingers roughly through his hair. He did not look like he was having a good time.

"Sam…please don't be angry. Uh…"

Please? Did the great John Vester just say _please? _I swallowed in tight apprehension. Shrill alarms were going off in my head. What was going on?

Dean immediately broke in. "Dad's making this more dramatic than it has to be. Sammy…listen…it's about Greg."

My eyes darkened. Oh my god.

"You…y-you…" I was scared to hear the words that were going to come out of Dean's mouth. "What did you _do_?"

Dean merely wrapped a protective arm around my waist. "Sammy…he won't hurt you anymore."

I pushed his arm away from me, and I scooted back to the edge of the bed.

"What is _wrong _with you? How could you?"

"He _hurt _you," Dean retorted angrily, his teeth barred like fangs, as if his explanation meant everything.

This was happening too fast. John had left to take care of Greg…but what did that mean? John hurt him, roughed him up a bit? Or did he _kill _him?

That was really fucking illegal, wasn't it?

I looked down at the sheets beneath me. But…maybe I didn't want to know. In my younger years, Greg had been a big part of my life. As time continued and horrible situations came to light, the distance between us grew. Then…then Greg raped me.

I wanted to remember Greg as the Greg I loved. If I knew the ultimate fate he suffered at the hands of the Vesters…I was scared it'd be too real for me.

"Sammy…" I took a glimpse at Dean. He looked so scared. He didn't look regretful of what they'd done, but it was a close thing. "Please…please understand. We did this for you."

It was true. They arranged to hurt Greg solely to protect me. Truth be told, I didn't want Greg in this world anymore. He defiled me, hurt me in the worst way possible. I didn't know if he was dead or not, but knowing I didn't have to "worry" about him would probably help me sleep at night. I wanted to live my life with the Vesters.

Removing Greg from my life just makes it that much easier to leave this town.

So I let them keep their secret. They had intentionally been ambiguous, and I realized I didn't really mind. Maybe they didn't think I could handle the truth either.

Maybe they were right.

I offered a small smile, but it slowly grew when I realized how happy I was getting. Greg was gone. Greg was _gone. _

My smile was immense, but a thought crept into my head without permission.

"Um…about Greg…" They tensed, and I felt bad for worrying them. "You're both policemen. You have, like, a code or something…right?"

I hated the idea of the Vesters tainting their hands just because they wanted to protect me. Didn't they understand? Would it finally get through their head that I _wasn't worth it?_

Dean chuckled nervously. "Well...haha…about that."

I blinked, staring blankly at him.

What?

"I…uh…so you're not…policemen?"

John stepped in, eyes cautious and gentle, and they slowly drew me in. "We're not. But, son, do understand this. We fight to protect people. We're just a different…version of police."

I was very confused, and Dean seemed keen to change the subject. "That's great, that's great, but for _now _we should focus on what we're going to do next. Sammy, Dad and I are leaving this town real soon. Will you…will you come with us?" His eyes were staring at me with such intensity that I felt like it would knock me over.

This revelation that they lied about their occupations was big, but did it change anything? Did it change the kind of people they were, the fact they've saved my life over and over again? Did it change the fact I could feel their love and protection wash over me like an impenetrable armor?

I smiled a small smile. I liked to think not.

Dean's intense gaze broke as a gust of relief blew through him. My smile grew, and he just kept staring at me, as if in awe of my smile.

When was the last time I had felt like this? When have I ever been treated as a precious person that needed to be showered with love and adoration? Have I ever felt this before? Was even Greg this good to me?

I laughed giddily, and I sensed the Vesters watching my every movement. I plopped onto the bed and laid flat on my back. My arms were outstretched beside me, one of my hands brushing against Dean's leg.

Dean immediately joined me, lying down on his side and facing me.

We lay there for long moments, silent and relaxed.

"Are you…Are you s-sure you're okay with…leaving?"

Am I okay with leaving this shitty town? He must have been truly having his doubts if he was wondering that. Was he actually _self-conscious_? Was _he _the one that was scared he wasn't good enough or me, that their lifestyle wouldn't suit me well enough?

I closed my eyes. "More sure than I've ever been in my life."

I knew he was smiling before he even spoke. "Okay," he said, even his voice sounding happy.

The silence took hold once again. But, after a while, it was me that broke it.

"For the last two years, I'd been waiting for you." I was staring up at the ceiling now, contemplative. "For some reason, for the short time I'd known you…you'd become so important to me." I felt water build up behind my eyes. I didn't know why this had suddenly popped into my head. My eyes were shiny, but I refused to let them fall. "I always had such wild fantasies. That you'd find me and take me away, but…" A sad smile crossed my features. "None of those fantasies had ever included Greg."

And it was then I realized I'd be just fine. Greg was a total shit, but I didn't need him in my life to be happy. I was already happy, and it was because of the two people beside me.

I finally turned to look at John and Dean. They were watching me intently, absorbing every expression I portrayed. They were so curious about me, so loving toward me.

I could have never wished for anything better than this.

My smile became more genuine. "I guess everything worked out, didn't it?"

Dean broke out into a happy, giddy smile. "Yeah, Sammy." He moved my hand out of the way and laid down beside me, wrapping one of his arms around my waist. "Everything worked out just fine."

XxXxXxXxX

We were on the road. Dean and John had promptly and excitedly accepted me into their life. They had burst into my own motel room, gathered all my scarce belongings, and shoved them into their sleek, black car. I had half-heartedly tried to stop them (there were items for my previous occupation that were in there and a bit awkward), but I couldn't bring myself to care too much. They seemed so content, so welcoming that I found little reason to argue.

Dean explained to me they still had so much to tell me, but I didn't mind waiting. I knew that, whatever they _were _hiding from me, wouldn't change how I felt about them. They meant everything to me; every sentence they spoke could be a lie and I'd still unconditionally care about them.

Funny how love works, huh?

I smiled at that thought.

**Three Weeks Later**

Dean and I were making sandwiches in the kitchen while John was within earshot in the small living room. He was cleaning guns, preparing for the upcoming hunt.

"Sammy…" Dean said reservedly, and my thoughts on the revelation about our "hunt" stopped there. I turned to Dean in question, but his gaze was far away, distant as he stared at the bland-colored wall. "Can I ask you something?"

I didn't like the idea of Dean feeling that he needed _permission _to ask me something. I wanted him to ask me anything and everything, and I wanted him to ask it freely.

"Sure."

There was a long pause, then, "Why had Greg ignored you and hated you so much?"

I looked away, and my heart rate increased. I understand why he felt he should ask before he asked. But that was no matter.

I'd tell him anyway.

"It's certainly a…long story." Our gazes locked, and I gave a small smile. "A sad story. Are you sure you want to hear it?"

Dean searched my eyes for long moments. It seemed like he was searching for something.

Suddenly, he produced the same smile as mine, his eyes never leaving mine. "Yeah, if you're willing to tell it."

I nodded, and I heard the clinks of the gun go silent in the living room. Good, John would get to hear the story, too.

"Greg's mother was very sick, and there was only one specialist in town that could treat her. Well…Greg and his family couldn't pay for it." I looked down, putting my knife in a jar of peanut butter and smearing it onto a slice of bread. "S-So…I went to the specialist a-and offered him…sex." I closed my eyes a brief moment. I knew I had no reason to be nervous, but I was still scared that, if I opened my eyes, I'd see condemnation on Dean's face.

"It was a dumb decision. Turned out the doctor was really religious." I snorted. "Not only that, he was fucking insane."

I continued. "He invited me to his house. At the time, I still had my phobias, but I overcame them." Tears built up in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Never again will I cry because of Greg. "Greg…Greg had meant so much to me. I had been willing to do anything for him." I forced the lump in my chest down, and after a moment the wave of emotion passed. Greg was no longer a part of my life. He meant nothing to me now.

And…that thought made me kind of happy.

"The man locked me up in his basement and...fuck, he used a whip and…" I felt like I was going to throw up. The pain had been so horrendous, so excruciating. "He said I needed punishment to redeem myself of my wicked deeds."

The knife and bread laid lifeless in my hands. My body felt so heavy. "I was in that basement for weeks and, by the time he finally let me go, Greg's mother was dead."

Tense silence hung in the air, and I barely had the courage to breath. In. Out. In. Out. I knew better than to think Dean and John would hate me for a story like this, but their levels of disappointment were likely off the charts.

I finally gathered the courage to look Dean in the eye.

"Pretty fucked up, huh?" I said with a twisted expression.

He had unshed tears in his eyes, and his hands were clenched into tight fists. He looked devastated and so, so old. Older than I'd seen him in a while.

He moved to stand beside me then crushed me to his chest. "I'm so sorry, Sammy." His voice was wrought with emotion and pain.

I returned the hug, holding him just as fiercely. "I'm a lot better now. You don't need to apologize."

Dean said nothing. He just sat his cheek on my head and sighed. He didn't move, didn't fidget or appear uncomfortable. He just…existed. He stood with me in his arms, and it seemed like he thought this was where he'd belonged all along.

I smiled. This life has been so hard, but another chapter has opened for me. Another door, another opportunity. I knew there would still be obstacles to overcome and mountains to move but, this time, I wouldn't be doing it alone. This time, I had two important people I could rely on more than life itself.

This time, I had family.

**XxXxXxXxX**

**Well there you have it, hope you enjoyed! Thanks to everyone that stuck with me throughout the entire series, despite my dreadfully delayed updates. It was fun! :)**


End file.
